


Exit Music

by Mapofmyhead



Category: The 1975 (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gangsters, Alternate Universe - No Band, Angst, Drugs and Alcohol Use, F/M, Family Bonding, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, George is a badass in love, George is in the closet, Graphic description of drug use, Literally And Figuratively, M/M, Matty also fucks everybody, Matty and George are big idiots and not the best people, Matty is a soft badass, Matty is literally addicted to everything, References to Depression, Ross and Hann are playing mum and dad, Sexual Content, Smut, Sort Of, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Waughy is the big brother, lots of fun and tears, slight non-con, this is mainly about Matty being a mess
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-05
Updated: 2018-09-07
Packaged: 2019-01-30 01:13:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 50,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12643116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mapofmyhead/pseuds/Mapofmyhead
Summary: "I- I made a deal," he states quietly as he looks at his feet, only managing to deepen George's still present frown.“A deal?”"A deal," Matty nods."What kind of deal?" George quizzes."Just a deal," Matty huffs. "Thought I'd do something about this debt of mine, is all," he says nonchalantly, shrugging one denim-clad shoulder.Even though it seems stupid and reckless and like a decision he made on the spare of a moment, he's thought this through, and about any other possible solutions to his life-or-death situation, but nothing else could grant him the amount of money he has to hand in to his creditors in the three months that they promised to let him off before they bash his head in.Or the one where Matty attempts to save his arse through a chain of poorly-thought out decisions, aggravates George, and in the process develops feelings that are going to complicate his relationship with him even more.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So this is the second the 1975 story I'm publishing (first is kind of part of this *hinthint*) but the first with multiple chapters and I'm a bit nervous but also very excited! I just wanted something gangster-ish and couldn't find one anywhere (please do correct me if I'm wrong and link me to a good story thanks) so I decided, fuck it, I'm writing one of my own. So here it is.  
> Read it, enjoy, and tell me what you think of it. Leave kudos and comment and all that, I really appreciate those.  
> Love xxx

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All chapter will have a list of all possible triggers in each of them. Scroll down to check those before you start reading if somethign might disturb you. Read safe.

"Matty! Long time no see," Tony greets as he walks into the room and behind his desk. "What brings you here?" he asks when he's taken a seat.

Matty nervously rubs at the back of his neck as nerves make his stomach clench, and takes a deep breath before answering carefully.

"I'm quite in trouble, Tony. I need your help."

"Of course," he nods, "Anything for an old friend!" Tony flashes him a toothy grin that sends shivers down his spine more than managing to reassure him that he has eventually found the help he’s been seeking.

Matty stands there all too aware of the two muscular men standing about six feet away behind him, opening and closing his mouth as he attempts to voice his thoughts in a way that'll make the situation bend more in his favor.

"Go on then," the mob pushes, now leaning back comfortably in his leather chair.

"I-" Matty clears his throat, "I'm going to need money," Matty blurts out, shakily wiping over his brow where he can feel a thin layer of sweat forming. Must be the temperature of Tony's office, he reasons, because the last thing he needs right now is to completely lose his shit and have this blow over in his face before it's even started.

"How much?" Tony deadpans.

"Thirty grand," Matty replies quietly and hears Tony's humourless low laugh as he holds his lit cigar between his teeth.

"I can help you, Matty – you know I will. But I’ll need some help myself." Tony quirks one bushy eyebrow, making Matty shift uncomfortably under his scrutinizing gaze and nod stiffly.

When Tony doesn't continue Matty asks "What do I have to do?" feeling defeated and humiliated for having turned to Tony again after years.

"Oh, nothing you haven't done before," he says with a glint of smugness in his eyes, wallowing in the smaller man's obvious discomfort. "Deliveries," he adds just to watch him squirm.

Matty knew this was coming but can't help the shaky breath that escapes his chapped lips, giving Tony what he wants.

"C'mon boy! It's a hundred thousand pounds we're talking about here! I profit without much trouble and you can of course have your share of it," Tony offers with a smirk, exhaling smoke. ''So what'd you think?''

Matty knows he could take double the amount of money he needs if he plays this game right but at the same time he is aware the older man doesn't have this in mind when he talks about his 'share' in this particular situation. He closes his eyes and takes in a sharp intake of air as his heart jumps excitedly at the words and, _God_ , he knows this is so wrong but Matty is greedy, so when Tony chuckles his knowing laugh he doesn't say a word to correct his assumption.

"I guess it's a deal then!" Tony claps his hands, standing from his seat and extending his hand towards Matty.

"Yes," Matty agrees, his voice coming out much too quiet and gruff for his liking, and his cold clammy hand briefly shakes Tony's large one while trying to not look as petrified as he is when he sees the grin on the man's face.

"Come back tomorrow, same time. To pick up."

With a curt nod Matty paces out of the room as steadily as his shaky legs allow, craving the cool air of the night outside the club and a cigarette.

As soon as he sets foot outside he leans again the brick wall, breathing fast and unsteadily as he takes his pack of Marlboros out of his back pocket and places a stick between his teeth. He lights it and takes a couple long drags, relishing in the way it seems to clear his mind and relax his body even if slightly.

What is he getting himself into now? What the fuck is he thinking? This can't be a good idea and Matty knows because Matty's been in the game before and it didn't turn out like it usually does in his favourite films. At least he didn't end up dead – Matty sometimes laughs aloud at that thought – but he might as well have been when this had almost taken everything away from him, and yet here he is again willing to ruin everything he's managed to rebuild in four years. Unless he does take the risk though, he is going to lose his house, his car and, let's face it, this time most probably his life too, but is it even worth it?

He had got himself into the business some years back because of the same reasons that push him to do so now – he needed money because paying rent and living comfortably for a nineteen-year-old wasn’t easy. Even though the job itself was simple and fitted Matty's lifestyle of choice perfectly with a side of the adrenaline rush he so much needed in his life it had also brought so much trouble upon him and he isn't sure he wants that back.

Hell, he's almost certain he doesn't want it – ever again. But he can't think of a better way to pay off his debt before they off him. Working with Tony is the quickest and most effective solution because Tony pays well – everyone in the business knows. But god forbid anyone fails him, which is easy seeing as Tony has the shortest temper Matty has ever seen in a person – and he used to think he was hot-headed.

And not to mention that ‘almost’ _. Almost_ certain because he's _almost_ in too deep and _almost_ craving it – all of it – _almost_ _too fucking much_ for comfort, and he is unsure of whether he actually prefers that chapter in his life to the one he's been on for the last three years or so, or the promise of something stronger than weed is already fucking up with his brain once again.

With a last drag he flicks the last of his cigarette to the ground and stubs it out with his toe. He exhales the smoke as he pushes himself off the wall and makes his way to his car.

His knees still feel weak and the palms of his hands clammy as he drives the familiar roads back to his flat. When he starts the car he has half a mind to crash in some shitty motel for the night but it isn't worth the trouble, he decides. He knows Tony needs him now and wouldn't try to kill him; for the time being it is. However, he can't shake the feeling that has made a home in the pit of his stomach. It feels like everything points him to a different direction from the one he is heading down but he deems it too late to turn around now. Tony doesn't want him dead, he reassures himself a second time. But there is a possibility he wants him back under his protection, which would be worse than wanting him dead, and the mere thought of it makes Matty want to be sick.

A convenient parking spot is waiting for him just outside his apartment block and this must be the best thing that's happened to him all day. He parks, speed-walks inside the lobby opting for the stairs instead of the lift for once because he can't stand still even for the minute it will take to reach his floor and when he reaches his door he unlocks it and bolts inside.

The small, dim-lit living room is littered with boxes and stacks of books, records and dirty clothes, instruments, guitar cases and amps. Matty trips over one in the dark and swears loudly. George moved in only about a week ago but his things don't seem to have moved at all since then. Matty should have a word with him otherwise he will surely lose his temper one day and throw everything of his out in the street; like his last girlfriend had done with his things only a few month ago, he recalls bitterly.

He takes a cig out of his pack and rummages in his jeans pocket for his lighter but he can't find anything but residues of his weed and lint. In his frustration, he kicks a box over with a dramatic groan and feels the relief of eventually taking his frustration out on something. So he keeps kicking and stomping, managing to refrain from offering a hard kick to every single one of George's things in the room just to spite him, and instead focuses on this particular box like it has personally failed him at some point in its short stay in the flat, while screaming profanities to no one in particular. He doesn't notice when George comes in, neither does he hear him over his own yelling, until two large hands take hold of his shoulders to pull him away from the now torn up box and its hopefully-not-broken contents.

"Calm down, mate," he says firmly. "Hey!" he yelps as the smaller man spins around and goes to swing at him. "It's me, it’s me. Take it easy." George says with his hands up in the air to show he means no harm. "Calm down."

Matty looks at him for a couple seconds as if he's trying to recognise what it is he's looking at, then rakes a hand through his hair and huffs shakily as he stands there trying to control his breathing, cheeks tinted red, whether from anger or embarrassment he can't tell. George, concerned, looks over to him as he goes to open the window and then searches in his jacket pocket for his weed before he sits on the windowsill and starts rolling a spliff. Matty stalks over and leans next to George. He eagerly receives the spliff and takes a long drag once George is done and has it lit for him.

"So," George says to draw the other man's attention. "What's up?" he asks casually but the concern leaks a bit into his tone.

Matty shakes his head and allows a small smile to tag at the corners of his mouth.

"Did I wake you?"

"Yes," George smiles but soon furrows his brows in mock annoyance. "Don't try to change the subject."

When Matty doesn't reply with a snarky comment after three more drags of his blunt while effectively avoiding eye-contact the whole time, George decides to cut straight to the point.

"What happened, Matthew?" This time letting the concern in his voice take over everything else, George takes a drag, preparing for Matty's answer.

Matty swallows and snatches the blunt back from George's hand, inhaling deeply before he speaks.

"I- I made a deal," he states quietly as he looks at his feet, only managing to deepen George's still present frown.

“A deal?”

"A deal," Matty nods.

"What kind of deal?" George quizzes.

"Just _a deal_ ," Matty huffs. "Thought I'd do something about this debt of mine, is all," he says nonchalantly, shrugging one denim-clad shoulder.

"And you... made a deal?"

"Yes." George huffs annoyedly.

"What kind of deal, Matty?" he groans.

"For fuck’s sake," Matty says under his breath as he blows smoke from the corner of his mouth and rubs the side of his face.

"You came in here screaming abuse at a box and shaking like a leaf. Don't you think I should know what happened that upset you so much?" George tries again, this time going for a softer tone, to coax Matty on.

"Leave it alone, George, will you." Matty pleads and looks outright broken, sending a pang of sadness and fear to George's chest, who places a soft hand on the smaller man's shoulder making him jump slightly.

"I'm worried, Matty," he confesses and expects that this will hit some strings and have him spilling but Matty doesn't show any signs of willing to speak any time soon and his whole body is visibly tense; George can feel it along with the trembles that quake through the smaller man's rigid spine where his hand touches him. George knows by experience that it isn't wise to push Matty to speak when he is in a state, like he is now, but he takes his shots and moves closer to him, his hand moving to squeeze his other shoulder so his arm is now wrapped around him. "Come on, mate. You can tell me-" he says softly and in a split second Matty has jumped away from him like he has been burnt and turns to face him, his eyes a strange mix of fury and panic.

"Fuck off, George."

"Matty -"

"It's none of your fucking business, is it!" Matty snaps, throwing the rest of his spliff out of the open window and storming off, leaving a very confused George sitting and trying to pass this off as another one of those not-so-rare Matty moods but this time it's hard to do so.

He stalks back to the bedroom after a cigarette and a glass of water and finds Matty on his side of the bed facing the window. He is almost certain that the man is not asleep but slips under the covers as quietly as he can all the same. He is still replaying what little Matty told him in his head while drifting off but even in his half-conscious state he can't make much sense because, he thinks, if this was something he could easily guess Matty would at least have given him an idea before tonight, so he settles in thinking that Matty's just frustrated because he hasn't gotten laid in a while or he had a row with somebody in some bar or something else equally petty. However, try as he might he can't shake the uneasy feeling that's settled in his stomach and promises to ask again in the morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *TW* 
> 
> Mentions of drugs and drug use  
> Mentions of death


	2. Chapter 2 and I've Only Proofread Twice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> George confronts Matty about last night and Matty goes to work and 's all good... Kind of.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is longer than the last one but I hope it's at least enjoyable.  
> As always kudos and comments are very well appreciated!!  
> Check the notes at the end for possible triggers in the following chapter. Read safe.
> 
> Love xxx

Matty doesn't keep track of the time but it feels like hours that he's been lying wide awake and he considers getting up and starting his day early, because anything is better than tossing and turning in the too-small space left on the bed next to George, who’s sprawled out on it like he owns the whole damn thing. He eventually manages to fall back into a restless slumber sometime later.

When he wakes up, sunlight seeps through the window and he feels more tired than when he lied down last night. He thinks he could maybe go back to sleep for a couple more hours but his brain is already fully awake and fully aware of the plans he's made for the night, and he feels restless as his stomach turns uncomfortably to the thought.

He tosses the duvet aside and makes his way to the bathroom, psyching himself up in front of the mirror more than following his morning routine and when he gets out he can smell the unmistakable smell of fried eggs in the air of the stuffy flat. George is making breakfast which is a rare occurrence since they both more often than not have a coffee and a couple fags for breakfast, or cereal if they're feeling fancy on a certain day, and Matty knows he should cherish it but he feels this is more than just George starving or feeling productive on a rainy Thursday morning. George wants to talk about last night and, Matty knows, even though either of them is particularly eager to bring that up especially when they have the better option of pretending it never happened, the younger man will push Matty to talk about it no matter whether Matty'd rather be tiptoeing around the subject till it's completely forgotten or, more realistically, until he can't hide his business from his friend anymore.

He finds himself tiptoeing into the kitchen, being as quiet as he possibly can because he wants to take in the scene before him first; George in only his oversized pyjama bottoms by the stove, stirring their breakfast in a pan. He wants to imagine that there is no tonight, nothing to worry about, just the two of them having a quiet morning in their shared flat, before he has to confront George – George who should be humming some tune to himself like he usually does when he is cooking for him but whose silence now drowns the small kitchen in an eerie atmosphere that the persistent sizzling of the eggs can't shake. George has noticed him before he has another moment to force his fantasy to feel real in the slightest. His lips stretch into a warm smile that Matty returns instantly but turns around to sit at the table far too soon for the sake of not having to look George in the eye just yet.

George spoons two eggs and two sausages in a plate and hands them to Matty with a smile and a cup of coffee, black, no sugar, just how he likes it.

"Sausage?" He sets his own plate on the table opposite to Matty’s, shrugs one shoulder and sits down when Matty says 'No, I'm good.' and picks up his fork. "I would have made pancakes but we've run out of milk," he informs through a mouthful of egg.

"How come you made breakfast?" Matty pokes at his food with his fork and hopes his tone really made him sound just slightly suspicious and not as nervous as he actually is, thinking he has probably failed and then trying to reassure himself that it doesn't really matter anyway. To be fair, he should have probably avoided the subject whatsoever, of George finding the motivation to make them eggs and sausages for breakfast today of all days if he wanted to at least eat his suddenly not too appetizing food in peace but he can't shake his curiosity about whether George has planned to bring up his quite frankly humiliating behaviour from last night during their meal.

"What’d you mean?" he asks to which Matty raises one eyebrow. "I always make us breakfast because I always wake up before you." George shrugs.

"Coffee doesn't count, George."

"Thought you needed the protein," George snickers. "You could do with some muscle on you, innit,” he chuckles, poking Matty’s skinny thigh with his foot under the table.

"Fuck you," Matty scoffs and then laughs a bit too despite himself, smacking George’s leg away, and takes a bite of his food, finally feeling a bit less tense as they keep on joking and making comfortable small talk with each other.

That is, until George goes unusually quiet and sets his utensils down on his plate.

Matty ignores the shift in the air for as long as possible but can't help but wince when George clears his throat loudly.

"So, where did you sneak out to last night?" he goes for a light tone which Matty is thankful for.

"Went for a drink," Matty says casually as he sips at his coffee."Sorry I didn't bring you with. You were sleeping and I didn't want to wake you."

"You did anyway," George points out. “I'm going to assume you came back when I heard you screaming?" Matty nods with a smirk. "You were absolutely livid, mate. You almost punched me,” George reminds him, his tone serious, with a bit of a humourous tint about the punching him part, but Matty giggles anyway.

"Sorry 'bout that, mate."

"Yeah, you're lucky you didn't break my records, by the way," Matty laughs again.

“Not my fault you are yet to put them away,” Matty crosses his arms over his chest with a smug little grin and George sighs.

"Why were you so angry, anyway?"

"I was pissed." Matty shrugs one shoulder.

"Looked pretty sober to me."

"You know how I am when I've had too much to drink," Matty continues as if he hasn't heard George, or seen the raised eyebrow, shrugging and tilting his head, letting some strands of wavy hair fall in his face. He can tell now that George isn't playing around anymore and he knows he can't avoid it forever but he might as well try.

"No. You've never been this angry before when you're drunk. And we've been drinking together for almost ten years now so I should know, don’t you think."

"There's a first time for everything," Matty offers a smile over the rim of his cup as he sips at his coffee, mentally calculating how much more he can keep this up until either George gives up or he breaks, and cursing himself for not having come up with a good enough excuse.

"You're not hangover." George squints at him almost accusingly.

"Fine quality liquor-”

"Are you kidding me?" George huffs a laugh in disbelief.

"Okay..." Matty sighs a defeated breath and George thinks maybe he's about to hear the first truthful thing coming out from his mouth but he's wrong. "I forgot to take my meds yesterday-"

"What the fuck are you on about?" George scoffs.

"I'm bipolar." Matty is clearly taking the piss now and George's not having it.

"Quit fucking about.”

"Problem?" Matty pushes his luck anyway and smiles while doing it.

"Matty," the younger one warns and his tone has the man across from him swallow hard against the lump forming in his throat. His eyes are fixed on the table and his hands balled in fists as his arms crossed on his chest while he's trying to think of a way out of this, since he’s neglected doing this earlier, but for once he draws a blank.

"Matty," George says again, this time his tone sounding concerned rather than angry, unless this is just Matty projecting his anxiety on his friend. George calls his name one more time but Matty's not moving, afraid of what George might see on his face but most importantly of what he will see on George’s. He thinks he can't handle the disappointment he imagines he's going to find there – he's sure George's figured it out by now – because after all it is George's disapproval he fears most of all; more than Tony's men and Tony himself, more than anyone else's thoughts about his choices, the path they're going to lead him down and what that will make of him. He doesn't have much of a choice though when the younger man demands that Matty looks at him and Matty immediately obeys.

His hair is still covering half of his face but he's sure he isn't mistaking the clear concern on his friend’s face and feels relief flowing though him when he searches his eyes and there's not a trace of the disappointment he's expecting in there, yet his anxiety still remains and forms a toxic mix with the addition of guilt.

"Please tell me what happened last night," George begs and Matty finds himself unable to refuse even though getting the words out is a hard task in itself, let alone when he is sure that some certain but very vivid parts of the story will mar George's sympathetic features with the disapproval he feels hovering over him.

"I met Tony-"

"Tony Ristori?" George asks shocked. " _The Bull?_ "

"Please let me finish," he says with his eyes closed and takes a deep breath in before continuing when George doesn't attempt to speak again. "I told him about my debt and he's willing to help. So basically we don't have to worry about getting evicted," Matty manages a little smile, for the sake of making it easier for George.

"You made a deal with him," George recalls what he was told the night before. Matty nods. "What kind of deal?" he asks and his voice is laced with fear. Matty can tell he's scared because George is not stupid, in fact, he's rather smart, and he sees where this is going, probably wishes to be wrong and Matty wants to grant him this wish more than anything but he has to inevitably crush his hope and confirm his fears. George looks at him for some agonizing seconds until he's about to say something but Matty beats him to it.

"I'll be doing deliveries. Will be selling some here and there, the usual," he shrugs like it's nothing but his stomach sinks when George, leant over the table, just looks at him with his mouth fallen agape.

"Selling some!?" he eventually exclaims, his eyes flicking between Matty’s, searching for any evidence that this is just a sick joke. "Matty, we talked about this. We agreed we're not doing that again."

"I know."

"Why did you make the fucking deal then!?" George shouts.

"What was I supposed to do? Ignore it till it goes away, was I? It isn’t like I have any other options at this point."

"You always have a choice!" Matty cowers at the volume of George’s voice, not because he really minds the volume itself but because he hates that's it's him that provoked it.

"I'm sorry."

"Matty – you promised me," George points an accusatory finger at him, but he's not shouting now, and Matty wants to disappear. "You fucking _promised me_ , Matty."

"I know- Listen," Matty tries to reason, leaning back from his chair and closer to George, a hand hovering for a few seconds as if he wants to touch him, before he lets it fall on the table again. "I'm not using again. I'm past this. I’m not going back to that, I'm just going to help Tony so I can get my money and pay off. Then I'm done with it, once and for all, alright? I promise."

George is leaning back in his chair, arms tightly crossed over his chest and eyes fixed on his plate but empty. He is not disappointed like Matty had imagined but he's not sure he still wouldn't pick that over this expression that George is now wearing on his features; he looks hurt. Matty hasn't seen him looking so devastated since the day he had caught him snorting lines in some bathroom at some party, the day Matty swore to him he would quit his job as a dealer, cut ties with Tony and go cold turkey – even though Matty had broken this last promise more times than he'd like to admit, but after some months of secretly struggling he had managed to stay clean for this long and both him and George have been happy and living the quiet life George had wanted.

Matty watches him for some more seconds in silence – silence that makes him feel uneasy, and all he wants is to approach him, cuddle him to his chest and tell him that everything will be alright, but he can't make such a big promise, not again, so he remains seated.

"Georgie," he says quietly when he can't take this silent treatment anymore; he'd much rather George be yelling at him.

George shakes his head.

"Why again?" he queries, not taking his eyes from their spot on the table. "There was a fucking reason we quit last time-"

"It won't be like last time." This makes George finally look at him, but his expression now is unreadable. He shakes his head and stands up, going to leave but stops before he's out of the room.

"Do whatever you want if you think it's going to help," he starts, deliberately keeping his eyes on the floor "but don't expect me to approve of this, or help for that matter," he says and leaves.

Matty sits and stares at the spot George used to stand for a moment, trying to ignore the pain in his chest, then snaps out of it and shoots up from his seat running after him but has the bedroom door slammed in his face before he can stop him. George hasn't locked so Matty could burst in and demand that they talk this out but knows that George needs time to at least process this. He will come 'round, Matty thinks, and likes to believe he is absolutely certain about it but truth is he isn't, because last time he hurt George more than he's ever willing to admit. He wasn't exactly expecting a positive reaction to such a situation but he was at least hoping that George would understand and maybe even be there for Matty along the road, for moral support since this wasn't exactly easy for him either.

He makes his way to the living room and sits at his desk by the window. He's agitated and angry and needs to take his feelings out on something, but shies away from his first instinct to drink himself to sleep at eleven in the morning or start a fight with George, which wouldn't be quite wise on his part. He decides he wants to put his thoughts down on paper, just to keep himself occupied for the time being and have a chance to make some sense of how exactly he's feeling about this whole situation because he's honestly quite petrified and needs to have it all laid out in front of him to make any sense at all. However, he can't write a full sentence without crossing it out because when he reads over it again he finds it doesn't exactly express how he's actually feeling neither does it lead him to the revelation he's looking for.

After a couple hours of frustrated groans and about a dozen crumpled up sheets of his failed attempt at writing poetry in the waste paper bin he turns to alcohol anyway. He makes his way to the kitchen and climbs on a chair to reach the top cupboard where his giant of a friend keeps their alcohol so Matty can't supposedly indulge himself in a couple bottles every night like he used to do. He moves a bottle of vodka aside and takes out a bottle of red wine as vodka would be quite too strong at this time in the afternoon even for him. He sets the bottle on the counter and climbs down from the chair, setting it neatly at the table and closing the cupboard before he takes the bottle in the living room and settles on the couch.

George would be mad at him he thinks with a smile and takes a swig of his wine.

Matty finds it annoying how George would always fuss over everything; his drinking, his smoking, his drug addiction. Alright, he was more than right to fuss over the latter but Matty considered getting upset over anything else an exaggeration on George's part, because Matty always had control over it and had told him that on numerous occasions. This claim was nothing but reason enough for George to keep on worrying as much as he was and have no doubt that Matty could lose control of everything that could harm him far too easily, and would go to extreme lengths to make sure Matty didn't cross any more lines than George himself was comfortable with. That most times ended in them screaming at each other and slamming doors in the early hours of the morning. Matty, however, was secretly very grateful for all that he did for him, because god knows he wouldn't be here right now if it wasn't for his best mate sitting on the bathroom floor with him at three in the morning until Matty would let go of the little bag so he could flush the white powder down the toilet, spending the last of his savings on weed so he could keep him occupied and away from cocaine, dragging him to bed with him before midnight so he wouldn't get pissed and higher than the moon for yet another night.

Sometimes, when George would take far too much time out of his day to take care of him, even after Matty had insisted many times that he is well able to take care of himself, 'thanks very much', he would feel guilt flowing in his veins. He isn't a good enough person to deserve this kind of attention from anyone, let alone from someone like George who is maybe the kindest person Matty has ever known, especially when Matty won't even come close to treating him half as nicely as George does to him. Matty is a selfish man and he has many a time wished George didn't care for him or that he'd just up and leave him one day and never come back or contact him again just so Matty could have a valid reason to feel bitter towards him and have an excuse to hate him and have the hate of another person add to his own self-loathing, but most of all so George wouldn't let him hurt him constantly like he always does, like he will always do. But Matty is a selfish man and so he doesn't want George to leave, hell, he wouldn't let that happen because he knows for a fact he would be lost without him.

His wine is finished much too soon as his thoughts start spiraling out of control to scenarios in which George indeed walks out of the flat with his things and he never sees him again, and they leave him feeling nauseous and oddly empty and he hates the silence that comes with George not being in the same room as him.

He is faintly aware of George going to the bathroom at some point in the next hour and then making himself something in the kitchen, then hears the bedroom door click shut again. The thought that maybe he imagined this in his drunk and half-asleep state bothers him for some minutes but he eventually decides he can't have because of the faint but unmistakable stench of weed that lingers in the air.

Suddenly he's craving a spliff but he's rubbish at rolling and the person who could do it in seconds and even light it for him is locked in their bedroom and Matty won't get up to ask him; he is too comfortable to move, he reasons, so he settles for a cigarette. He reaches over on the coffee table for his packet, takes one out and lights it, taking a hard drag, and marvels in the way the smoke swirls gracefully towards the ceiling when he exhales.

He keeps himself entertained like this for some hours, smoking cigarette after cigarette until his once almost-full pack is empty and strumming his guitar until with a resentful glance at the clock on the wall he realizes it is time he started getting ready. He's still in his boxers and a worn t-shirt and – lucky him – all his clothes are in the bedroom where George has been all day.

He'll probably be in bed on his laptop with his headphones on but Matty still dreads the moment he will walk in. And he's right in doing so; when he opens the door the noise it makes seems to break the silence in the most violent way. They look at each other after hours of ignoring the other's existence, or rather probably wishing they could do just that, and Matty would swear he's never felt more awkward around George in his life, even though of course he has. George is indeed in bed like Matty's guessed, sitting upright with his long legs stretched in front of him and his laptop balanced on his thighs, his headphones on. He slides them off when Matty enters and looks at him expectantly.

"I...I'll be heading out now," Matty informs him, his voice merely above a whisper, as he stands in the doorway nervously pointing at the closet as if to ask for permission to move further inside the room and failing at keeping his eyes on George's for more than a couple seconds in his attempt to look unfazed by their conversation that morning. "Just going to get some clothes." George nods and seemingly goes back to his work but has his headphones hanging around his neck while Matty digs in the closet, coming out with a pair of black jeans, a shirt, clean underwear and socks and grabs his leather jacket that's hanging from the back of a chair.

It's better to change in the living room, he decides, because he has the feeling that George doesn't particularly want him around right now and come to think of it rationally it would be good for George to be alone for some time to think anyway. So Matty is happy he is going to be out and will probably come back to a sleeping George no matter how much he would have liked to have some emotional support before he leaves, and much more so when he comes back later tonight.

Having gathered his keys and wallet, he is about to leave the flat when he realises he's not wearing any shoes and blames it on the anxiety that's currently blooming in the pit of his stomach. Resentfully, he makes his way back to the bedroom while cursing under his breath.

"Just taking my boots and I'll fuck off," he hurries to say once he throws the door open and looks around the room for the items in question, spotting them at the end of the bed. He hastily picks them up while mainly focusing on looking anywhere but at the man on the bed and almost makes a run for the door to get out of there as soon as possible, the awkwardness thickening between the two as time is going by, or it may only be Matty's mind interpreting the quiet atmosphere wrong since he's never done particularly well with it.

"Wait," George stops him just before he's out of the room. Matty is caught by surprise and jumps a little before tensing up almost instantly as he turns around slowly to face George, who seems to be struggling with words like he usually is in social situations where he's not comfortable. It feels different though, when it's just the two of them, and it makes Matty uneasy. He's secretly wishing that what he's trying to say is as important as he makes it seem but George eventually settles for: "Should I wait up?" Matty is slightly disappointed.

"Um. No. I mean you don’t have to. Don't know what time I'll be back, so…" he replies and pauses for some seconds, giving George a chance to say something else because Matty isn't satisfied.

George runs a hand through his hair then over his face, while looking around the room as if he tries to find the right words again, until his eyes fall on Matty and he sighs in defeat.

"For Christ’s sake, be careful, okay?" His voice is quiet and tight and silence falls over the two once again. Matty didn't expect to hear this, especially after his promise to not support or help him with this. He's shocked and quite honestly he's starting to feel a bit emotional because this might be what he needs more than anything right now; to know that the younger man still gives a shit about him even when he's fucked up and he needs to hear it because he can't read the signs very well.

They look at each other for some seconds that seem to go on for too long until Matty turns around to fully face George and nod but George doesn't look convinced. Matty sighs.

"Aw, Georgie,” he coos and crosses the distance between them to wrap his arms around his neck. “It will be alright."

George shakes his head when Matty pulls away and looks at the dirty screen of his laptop.

"Just..." he trails off.

"I'll be fine," Matty promises and offers him a smile, then turns around and exits the room without shutting the door, calling back: "See you later."

He puts his boots on and leaves the flat, feeling more relaxed and slightly more confident about this than he did an hour ago but the nerves still have him shaking like the night before.

He gets stuck in traffic but makes it to The Bull only twenty minutes late. The loud music seeps to the outside of the nightclub as he passes by the main entrance and makes his way to the back through the side alley; it was one of Tony's rules that no man of his walked in through the main entrance – keeping a low profile and all that. The music sounds muffled in the alley but doubles in volume once a familiar tall blond in a suit opens the door after Matty has knocked rhythmically a couple times.

"Matty," greets the man.

"Chris." Matty recognizes him from that time back then when he used to be here every other night to pick up and hand in the profits to Tony.

The blond is making his way inside the club and to the back where Tony's office is located while Matty follows close behind. Chris stops outside the door and jerks his head to the direction of the office to signal for him to go in. Matty pushes the door open feeling the trembles multiplying the closer he comes to meeting Tony no matter how much he concentrates on keeping his hands from shaking and his mind from clouding over with anxiety. He takes in a sharp breath when he pushes in expecting to be met with the man but instead is met with an empty chair.

"Wait here." Matty looks at Chris over his shoulder as Chris closes the door behind him and starts walking back down the dim-lit corridor, leaving Matty alone.

Matty considers sitting down on one of the chairs in front of the heavy wooden desk but dismisses the idea immediately knowing of Tony's unwritten rules about respect and such so he opts for standing awkwardly in the middle of the room waiting and inevitably worrying his mind off over the situation. He has managed to make the little voice in his head shut up while he was in motion but now that he has to stay still his anxiety doesn't work in his favour but instead starts eating away at him.

He has to remind himself that this is just a job – one that he has done before as well – and it has rules like every job does – not that he's worked many in his life – and as long as he follows the rules he has nothing to fear. He knows how to do this job, he used to be one of the best in the business and that of course must have been the reason Tony had made him his right-hand man; Tony trusted him.

That changed however, when Matty was made to quit after the fight he had with George so now not only does he have to work hard to regain Tony's trust, if he ever manages to, but he is also, most probably, on his bad side since he dropped the job without previous notice, not to mention that this had possibly cost him some costumers who were buying exclusively from Matty. In fact, Matty was surprised that he wasn't made to pay at the time but if he lets his realistic side shine through the positive façade he's been putting on he is almost certain that he will pay now, one way or another, but he hopes that any way Tony decides to get his revenge on him won't be too painful and won't hurt his loved ones. Tony had dozens of people – and their families – killed only in the few years Matty was working for him, because they'd failed to pay him off, embarrassed him or offended him some way or other and it was never pretty or pleasant. He always thought he wouldn't have to worry about this sort of thing back then but now that he is back he can't take the images of those people out of his mind and wonders if this is after all what will become of him.

Matty is wondering about this right now; the idea of somehow fucking this up for him, and for George, has his stomach churning. Technically this starts tonight because making the deal didn't feel exactly real but tonight will be very much real, as well as every night for the next month or so. All he can hope for now is for this to end as soon as possible in the best way possible.

Matty snaps out of his thoughts when he hears the door open and he turns his head to look as in walk two enormous men who he recognizes as two of Tony's bodyguards. Behind them enters a skinny yet somewhat built man, about Matty’s height, give or take an inch or two, with ink gracing the backs of his hands and neck and apparently sharing Matty's love for leather jackets and boots and black and white. With him carries a suitcase in each hand and sets both on the desk passing by Matty without sparing him a glance. 

"You're Matty, right?" he asks in a distinct American accent and doesn't wait for Matty to answer. "Tony has told me all about you. Apparently, I've taken your place after you chickened out," he snickers. He opens one suitcase just a crack, peeks inside, then closes it, pushes it to the side and moves on to the other one. "Hope there’s no hard feelings."

The man turns around to face him for the first time since he walked in, his almost too dark eyes boring holes into Matty’s skin. Matty avoids his gaze, choosing to scan his face instead, noting his clean shaven cheeks and his piercings, an earring and a nose ring, screaming loudly for attention in Matty’s honest opinion.

"I'm Jesse, by the way," he offers a tattooed hand for Matty to shake, which Matty deliberately doesn't. "Oh," he exclaims, looking amused before he turns around again, “I see.”

"Where's Tony?" Matty finds himself asking and feels weird at the realization that he'd rather be doing this with the boss himself.

"Out of town. He left me in charge," Jesse smiles at him over his shoulder while his fingers are fumbling with something in the suitcase, "But don't worry, I know _exactly_ what I'm doing."

Matty can't help but feel nervous around the man. Maybe it's because he's never seen him around before or maybe because of his eccentricity in character and appearance and his horrible American accent, or perhaps it is because he doesn't look much older than him – he’s probably around the same age as him, if not younger – and maybe he reminds Matty of himself when he first started in the business, all too confident, feeling untouchable. Or maybe the man's just plain weird and that's it but either way Matty can't help but dislike Jesse. He's been going with his gut instinct for ages and he finds it hard to ignore it right now.

"It's good business, though, isn't it?" murmurs Jesse, trying to make small talk.

"Yeah, I suppose."

"I'm quite enjoying it, not gonna lie. How was your first time here then? Couldn't have liked it very much seeing as you quit like that," he muses, now having abandoned the contents of the suitcase and fully facing Matty. "What made you quit anyway?" Jesse tilts his head curiously and Matty is so tense and frustrated he can't promise he won't punch him square in the jaw in the next few minutes if he doesn’t shut up.

"Can we get this on and over with?" he murmurs, pointing to the suitcases on the desk, his voice laced with nerves that don't go unnoticed by the man by the desk who raises his hands on each side of his head defensively.

"Okay, gee."

Jesse goes back to the task and Matty leans a bit to the side to watch him work. Jesse is counting bags filled with an all too familiar white powder and Matty's mouth goes dry because at the sight of it everything comes back in a flash: the feel of it, the taste, the numbness in his mouth, the high. He has experience with addiction and is aware that this is just his body remembering, he's not addicted anymore and has been clean for nearly three years but, man, aren't the memories sweet. He's craving it but not physically as much as emotionally.

"Alright, then. You know the drill – now – you take thirty of this," Jesse sets a bag on the desk, "and this," he pats the other suitcase, "you must take… here," he scribbles down an address on a piece of paper and hands it to Matty. "To McCarty, remember?"

Matty nods stiffly and swallows hard, his eyes fixed on the drugs.

“Come on then,” Jesse gestures Matty over and hands him the suitcase. "Off you go, Matty-boy!"

And off Matty goes, roaming the darkest streets of London.

He meets the man who he remembers from the past as McCarty in an empty parking lot forty minutes away from central London and exchanges his black suitcase full of cocaine with an identical one full of cash. Forty minutes later he's moving from bars to nightclubs to dark alleys selling grams and filling his pockets with cash and his veins with the rush he has missed more than he imagined he would. The rush that came with meeting up with mobs in abandoned parking lots and junkies in alleys and selling to naive and impressionable teens in nightclubs where he could easily be caught by either the police or whomever it was that run the area and get killed or have his earnings stolen and going back to Tony's empty-handed. The fear that came with the danger of it filled his brain with sweet chemicals like he hadn't felt in two fucking years. _Oh, had he missed this._

He drives back to his flat at about three in the morning and finds all the lights off, relieved that George is probably asleep. He locks the door – a silly habit of George's in Matty's sincere opinion because, come on, they are doing far more risky things than abandoning to lock the door before going to bed – then kicks his boots off and sheds his jacket before making his way to the kitchen for a glass of water. He's feeling exhausted but he's also so on edge that he won't be able to sleep even if he tries so he makes his way to the big window in the living room, opens it and sits down on the windowsill, reaching for his pack of cigs and remembering he's finished it just before he headed out in the evening.

"Fuck." He should head out and get some in the morning but right now he can't be arsed to leave the flat again so he hopes that George didn't smoke all of his while he’s been away because he really craves one right now.

After he's drank his water in a few gulps he sets the glass on the counter and heads to the bedroom. He puts all his effort into making as little noise as possible as he opens the door and pads inside just as quietly, noticing the lump on the bed under the duvet and feeling his heart swell at the sight so much so that he almost abandons his search of a fag for slipping into bed next to George. He really needs a smoke though so he shakes the thought out of his mind and quickly scans the room in the dark, and sure enough there is George's pack on the dresser just opposite the bed.

"You're late," a gruff voice murmurs in the dark, making Matty jump slightly just as he's placed a cigarette between his lips. George is lying on his back, an arm thrown over his head, the duvet having fallen to the middle of his chest.

Matty slowly pads towards the bed and he can't tell if George is looking at him but a smile stretches on his lips anyway.

"You didn't wait up." The click of a lighter adds to the scarce sounds in the quiet room as Matty lights his cig, illuminating his face in a warm orange glow for just a second, and George watches as he exhales a delicate cloud of smoke.

"Never said I would," George smiles and even in the dark the gesture is enough to encourage Matty to move closer to sit down at the foot of their bed.

"Why are you up so late?"

"Couldn't sleep," George shrugs one shoulder and sits up. Matty exhales another thick cloud of smoke and George scrunches up his nose. "Open the fucking window." Matty scoffs but stands up anyway to do as he is told.

"You alright?" he asks as he takes a seat on the windowsill, deliberately keeping his eyes on the busy street below.

"Fine," George shrugs again and even though Matty feels the urge to talk about today he thinks it’s probably not a very good idea to start this conversation at three in the morning so he simply nods, turning his eyes towards the sky.

"How did it go?" They've been silent for some minutes now and Matty's started thinking that George has probably gone back to sleep. He looks at him, slightly taken aback by the question; he didn't think George wanted to talk about this but apparently he does and at this time as well but right now Matty isn’t sure if he can deal with the conversation that is sure to follow if he starts talking about tonight because he's positive that the younger man isn't going to be happy to hear about the kick Matty got out of this.

"Fine."

"Fine," repeats George, obviously disappointed and slightly annoyed that Matty apparently is not going to give him more information. "Right." Yes, he's definitely irritated and right now Matty can't deal with this either.

He takes a last drag of his cigarette and flicks it out on the street, then pushes himself off the windowsill and shuts the window, drawing the curtains as well since George forgot. He makes his way to the bed, shedding his clothes as he goes until he is down to his boxers.

He climbs under the duvet and shifts closer to George, unable to suppress the smile that tugs at the corners of his mouth at the sound of George sighing in defeat as he turns on his side to wrap his arms around Matty.

"We will talk about it tomorrow," Matty murmurs with his head pressed against the larger man's bare chest who scoffs and loosens his grip on him, having Matty press even closer to stop him from completely moving away. "We will, I promise," he says and sounds sincere, "'M just tired," he mumbles, feeling warm and content, already drifting off. He feels George pulling him closer and falls asleep with a smile on his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *TW*
> 
> Mentions of drugs and drug use  
> Alcohol use  
> Mentions of dead/violence


	3. I Will Never Let You Go

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been listening to the Brokeback Mountain soundtrack while editing this and I'm a bit emo, so don't be surprised if this starts getting very gay from now on.  
> (this chapter isn't emo much but Brokeback Mountain is a great movie fight me)
> 
> Love xx

Tony counts the notes in his hand for the second time and smiles widely when done as he hands them to Jesse who’s standing behind him. "Thank you, Matty. You've earned a day off."

"Thanks." Matty offers the man a smile and goes to leave his office. He's been out and about almost the entire day, going from place to place for deliveries and selling stuff since early in the morning, having gotten shuteye for hardly four hours since he came back home late last night. All he wants right now is to go home and sleep.

''Isn't George going to be joining us anytime soon?'' Tony seems to be in the mood for a chat, and his subject of choice just so happens to be Matty's currently least preferable one, not just because the name makes him feel weird because they haven't been on exactly good terms as of lately, but also because _this_ is exactly why they have been talking to each other as little as possible: the solution Matty has presented to their – _his_ problem and the fact that it immediately affects George no matter how out of this he decides to stay.

Matty slowly turns to Tony, who wears an unreadable expression on his face and waits for Matty’s answer.

''No.'' The man behind the desk raises his thick eyebrows in question. ''He’s… busy. With other things. So no, for now." Matty almost whispers the last two words; more than anything they're an empty promise, which Tony most probably knows judging by the look he gives him, but one that makes Matty feel more confident that Tony won't turn against him, or worse, against the man who currently hates his guts.

"Oh, that's a shame. That boy had potential." Matty nods politely, briefly recalling that time before everything had gone to shit when George would chose this lifestyle without a second thought, his heart clenching a bit. "Give him my regards."

"I will," Matty chokes up and with a brief nod he walks out of the room, feeling Tony's eyes on him until the door’s closed and serving as a protective barrier between them. Matty makes his way out of the club, relieved.

Matty has spent hours upon hours in the luxurious office of the mobster and will spend even more, but he can never feel quite comfortable in there. Perhaps, it has to do with the rich reds of the walls and the dark brown leather of the furniture contrasting with the white light of the lamp above his desk that gave the room a feel out of an old gangster film. Or perhaps, it was the man sitting behind the desk himself, and the sense of dominance he conveyed and power he possessed that you could feel in the atmosphere he surrounded himself in from miles away, and the way he carried himself, the way he smoked his cigars and drank his bourbon and the way he looked down at everyone with such arrogance from his seat on his leather throne. Or maybe, the display of said dominance and power Matty had been witness and accessory to through all those years was curved so deep into his brain that uneasiness now feels innate. Matty wonders if he ever will feel, not comfortable, but perhaps somewhat safe in there, without the threat of death hanging over him like a curse, in the short time he has left working with Ristori.

It is his second week in the job, and judging by the earnings every night, he'd say it is going pretty well, sparking up some hope in him that maybe he could be done with it even earlier than he had anticipated. Tony's products are said to be top-notch quality so people trust him, not just the usual costumers but also people who want to delve into the magic world of narcotics for the first time; consuming safely and responsibly and all that.

Tony’s made a name for himself not only in the city, but in the entire country. Matty thinks there’s no better way to make money than working here. If things keep going smoothly like this, he will be able to pay off his debt in a bit less than a month and then he can cut ties with the man once and for all. George would laugh bitterly at this seeing as this was Matty's promise to him the last time but he had found his way back to The Bull and into Tony's office to ask him for recruitment, and even though it isn't exactly full-time and is only for a short period of time, until he makes the money that he will exchange for his life, this is still breaking that promise. However, Matty is determined to keep it this time, no matter what rough path he might find himself walking down in all this.

George is asleep on his side of the bed when Matty comes home and he feels relief flooding him for the second time tonight. He undresses and gets into bed as quietly as he can so as not to wake him. George turns over in his sleep and wraps his arms around him, pulling him closer and nuzzling in his hair, making Matty shy contently, basking in the peace that surrounds him with George wrapped around him. Matty can suddenly feel him tensing up.

"You smell like Tony." Matty tenses up too and his stomach clenches, having noticed how the nauseating mix of cigars and the man's expensive cologne lingered on his clothes, so, of course, it's in his hair as well.

"Sorry," Matty murmurs and swallows the lump that's formed in his throat. "Had me stay longer so he could count the profit twice." Even though George started it with his seemingly casual comment, Matty knows he should have stopped it there but is technically breaking an unspoken rule in their nightly truce, which was essentially not talking about Matty's business, no matter how trivial it might be, and Matty is more than nervous as he waits for George's response.

"You should shower," is all George says and Matty can feel his stomach drop to the mattress.

"Right, yeah. Fuck. Sorry." he murmurs as he scrambles to get out of bed.

George blindly reaches out and grips Matty's wrist, stopping him before he's made it and pulls him to get back under the covers. "In the morning," he clarifies and Matty's maybe more taken aback by this than by any of the previous comments, sitting with his legs hanging from the side of the bed and looking back at George and gaping at him. George pulls at Matty's arm again and cracks one eye open as he holds the duvet up for Matty to get under. "Get back here, Matty."

Matty obeys and lies down close to George, letting George pull him in to his chest again, listening as his breaths come slower and deeper as he steadily drifts off to sleep but Matty can't.

He feels relieved for the third time this night and thinks that maybe their agreement is more sacred than either of them is letting on, because he can imagine, and knows how this would have gone if he had arrived earlier in the evening and George was not asleep: angry silence and stomping away and slamming doors and frustration and hot concealed tears stuck in his throat.

This is how they mostly spend their days now: in silence and glaring at each other and little to no talking and everything opposite to what they used to be.

They always speak of Matty's day the morning after, but only briefly and in little to no detail at all, because as much as that first night George seemed to have wanted to talk about it, when Matty brought it up in the morning George stopped him, downed the rest of his coffee and fled from the kitchen. Matty was scared to but confronted him about it a couple days later during dinner, because that was apparently something they were still doing.

"I don't want to talk about it." George shook his head and cut him off. "In fact, I don't want to get involved at all. If that's fine with you."

Matty frowned but nodded and reassured him it was totally 'cool'; it is fine if George doesn't want to get involved, this has been Matty's plan from the beginning anyway: leave George in the dark about his drug dealing business for he knows of George's repulsion to anything related to it ever since he realized how much danger that had put the both of them in, not to mention their friends and family, and he would have made it if only he could control his anger and frustration a bit better, or at all if he is being honest with himself.

They have most of their meals together at least, mostly because they're used to it, even prior to George moving in, but also because neither of them would really like to eat alone, and even when they don't speak a word to each other they prefer the company to isolating themselves in separate rooms, which is something that isn't easy in and on itself in their flat. During said meals, they tend to be rather civilized, engaging in truly mind-numbing small talk and avoiding any subject of true importance to the point where two weeks later neither knows what is going on in the other's life since apparently now they live two separate ones.

Away from the kitchen table, or the couch on special occasions and only during fixed hours of the day, they are mainly busy avoiding each other by locking themselves away in the bedroom in turns while the other occupies the living room and more rarely the kitchen; the bathroom seems to be among the popular choices for Matty, since it is the only place where George would refrain from just bursting in after knocking without waiting for permission like he usually does when the smaller man is in the bedroom.

Matty hates it: the silence, and the indifference he receives and feigns for the sake of not looking weak and admitting defeat before George does; obviously this has gotten into sides now: the side which, in Matty's opinion, is fighting to get them out of this swamp of a situation, aka Matty's side, and then George's, who's stubborn and refuses to help Matty, not even by offering some sort of emotional support.

But as much as Matty might call George stubborn he knows he has his reasons and Matty is in no place to question them, because if he was to start admitting things now he would have to recognise his own fault in this. And let's face it, this is _all_ his fault, because George wouldn't be so negative and so reluctant to help if Matty hadn't fucked up big the first time around, and if Matty hadn't chosen to help them out by getting involved in the same business. And as much as Matty might claim that George doesn't offer emotional support he knows that he can't blame him, because, once again, this is all his fault, but, anyway, his claim isn't a hundred percent true either. Because George does support him even though in his own way, one that doesn't require him to get out of his comfort zone, since that would end up amazingly bad, probably having them be even more detached from each other than they already are, and allows him to mask his interest behind the facade of habit.

Matty is thankful for that, as he is for the darkness inside their bedroom, the place where they can ignore the rest of the world and just be _Matty and George_ , because he needs those few hours of darkness until the sun comes up when he's not able to see the hurt in George's eyes every time he looks at him and pretend it's not even there when he pulls him closer to his chest in his sleep, pretend they are Matty and George and forget how the current situation seems to keep them from being an item anymore.

However, as hopeless as things might seem in the early hours of the day, Matty has noticed how George just slightly and slowly seems to warm up to the idea of this temporary arrangement and can't help but feel giddy and happy at the prospect of soon going back to how they were before. That's how they work after all: they are symbiotic, they are a part of each other and sure enough ignoring each other is slowly killing them both. At least Matty thinks so because he can feel it eating away at him, an itch he can't rid off because the most important component of his life is currently missing and without him nothing really makes much sense.

He wakes up early in the morning, and before George for once, and surprisingly in a rather good mood.

He takes his time while showering, gets dressed and prepares breakfast: coffee and toast, nothing fancy like George would make but it will do.

While he waits for him to get up, he lights a cig and sits on the windowsill with his steaming cup of coffee, feeling content as he breathes in the morning air and enjoys the light breeze that makes its way through the open window.

He feels like six months ago, that time just before he completely fucked up their lives: relaxed, calm, almost free, and full of hope for the day he has ahead of him with his best mate in their flat and no obligations, or in any danger. Just like they used to be before.

Matty thinks too much of _before_ for how content he's feeling in this moment, but he never prided himself to be anything if not nostalgic and overly sentimental over the past, and can't help it now more than ever that his life is admittedly more messed up. Because he is now so relaxed and wrapped up in positivity though, he can’t imagine how anything could go wrong. He’s fucked up, and possibly reached bottom as well, so now the only way to go is up and the limit is the sky.

Risen by the smell of coffee, George soon sleepily makes his way into the kitchen. His noisy footfalls are heard over to the living room, and Matty jumps down from the windowsill and closes the window before going to greet his friend, who is standing by the counter eyeing the food in the plate suspiciously.

"'Morning."

"Thought somebody broke in and prepared me breakfast,” George comments making Matty scoff. "How long have you been up?"

"'Bout an hour," George eyes him in disbelief.

"Don't look at me like that." Matty pours George a cup of coffee and refills his own. "Look – I even made you breakfast, you ungrateful piece of shit." George laughs quietly and holds his hands up in the air in surrender, then puts some slices of toast in two plates and carries them over to the table where Matty's already seated.

"That's very kind of you, Matthew," kindly says George, snickering as he goes to search for butter and Marmite.

"Shut up." George sits down at the table opposite Matty, like they always do, setting down a jar of Marmite and a block of butter.

"I mean," George picks up a piece of slightly burnt toast from his plate, " _toast,_ " he says with a soft laugh.

"Oh, I'm sorry I couldn't meet your high gastronomy standards, George. I’ll try harder next time." George laughs at that and Matty hides his pleased smile behind his mug.

"No, but seriously, this is- I mean. This is nice of you," the younger one says more seriously this time, preparing a slice with Marmite for Matty.

Matty smiles openly now as he looks at him and sips at his coffee, feeling more content than he has in two long weeks, and promising to make this day count.


	4. Happy New Year!! (really long chapter ahead, you have been warned)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year everyone!! Hope y'all had a nice holiday, I sure did, which was quite unexpected this year but I ended up partying a lot and having so much fun!  
> Also, I've booked plane tickets for next month to study abroad for a semester and I'm so so excited!!
> 
> So this one's a bit long and heavy for an after-holiday chapter. I decided to separate chapters in a way that makes sense in the story's timeline so most of these are going to be long from now on. Also, because this is a huge piece of text right here, although I've proofread a few times(as always), there still might be some typos and such so pardon me for that, and feel free to point them out if you come across any.
> 
> Also, if you make it this far, let me know if such long chapters are alright and easy to read, so, if not, I might have to figure something else out.
> 
>  
> 
> Check the notes at the end for possible triggers in the following chapter. Read safe.
> 
> Love xxx

Looking at his most recent piece in his lap Matty smiles proudly; he hasn't written anything good in a while but he has to admit this one is at least half decent. He notes some changes he ought to make later before he closes his notebook and puts it away. He makes his way into the living room, thinking he shouldn't let his day off go to waste, because, let's face it, this is probably the best he’s haδ in a while so far.

He finds George clicking away at his laptop, TV on low serving as background noise. George doesn't raise his head until he feels the cushion sink next to him and Matty leans over to see what he's working on. "What're you doing?"

"Working." George clicks a couple times and listens, bobbing his head along to the beat, then grimaces. "Can't get it right," he groans.

"Play it again?" George hits 'play' and let's Matty listen. "This part,” Matty points to the screen, “needs…something, Gimme,” he murmurs placing the laptop on his knees to make some adjustments. “How about this?”

They both listen and spend the next hour or so bouncing ideas about how George can make the track sound as good as possible before sending it to his client for feedback, which in reality isn’t something he has to do because that rapper boy for some reason has full trust in George’s talent and experience and really low standards. For that hour everything feels so normal, and comfortable like it should be; not like the awkwardness between them has vanished, but like it was never there in the first place.

Matty pats George's thigh when George hits send on the file, signaling the end of this one, "Good job," and gives Matty's shoulder a squeeze.

"Thanks, mate."

Matty gets up from the sofa and asks if George wants anything from the kitchen, then disappears to the next room, leaving George enough time to check and answer some piled up emails and then find some music to play on his laptop. Matty returns some minutes later with a cup of tea for himself and one for George even though he hasn't asked.

"I was thinking-" Matty begins saying.

"Thanks." Matty sets George's cup on the coffee table and relaxes back on the sofa with his mug between his hands, relishing in the warmth.

"-maybe we can do something tonight."

"Mm. Like what?"

"I don't know." George sets the laptop on the table and goes to retrieve his supplies from his leather jacket that's thrown haphazardly over the chair by the desk and plops back down on the sofa to leisurely roll a joint. "Like, we can have the boys over."

"I don't know. It's Sunday. People have jobs tomorrow."

"We don't have to do anything _crazy_. Just chill and like, watch a film or somethin'."

"Order takeaway?" Matty smiles from behind his mug as he takes a sip and winks as means of confirmation, making George smile back widely.

"Sounds good then. Want me to text Ross?" he asks, already having taken his phone out of his pocket.

"Yeah. Ta." Matty takes the joint George has offered him and lights it, taking a hard drag and inhaling, then holding it in for some seconds before he exhales. He takes another one before passing it over to George who's tapping away at his phone.

"They'll be here in an hour," George informs as he blows smoke from the corner of his mouth and takes his mug from the table to take a wary sip from the hot liquid. "Apart from Waughy."

"Why not?"

"Can't make it. Didn't explain." George places the joint between Matty's waiting fingers and watches as he takes a long drag of it. Matty nods, a bit disappointed that John has probably ditched them for his girlfriend, but actually looking forward to seeing people who aren't junkies or Tony or Chris or _fucking_ _Jesse_.

"Tell them to bring some drink." Matty vaguely gestures towards the phone in George's palm and George types a quick text to their group chat informing them of Matty's demand before he takes the spliff from Matty’s hand.

"All done," George smiles and leans back on the sofa which Matty immediately takes as invitation to move closer and take the phone's place into George’s lap. George wraps one arm around him as he takes a hit and tips his head back to blow smoke up to the ceiling. When he looks back down he's met with the expectant look in Matty's eyes and he brings the spliff to Matty's lips letting him inhale deeply before he brings it back to his own.

Matty doesn't take his eyes off of him for a moment or two, admiring his features, because suddenly his face is captivating. Well, come on, George is _beautiful_ when Matty isn’t high, and he is so much more so right now that his head’s swimming. George stares back unashamedly with that unreadable expression on his face that Matty both hates and is intrigued by as he tries to read him and decode the slight, almost imperceptible changes on his features as his lips wrap around the end of the spliff. George’s eyes are flicking back and forth between his own. Matty stifles a sigh.

"What?" George asks eventually, bringing the spliff down for Matty to take a drag but Matty breaks his stare and lowers his head, tucking it in under George's chin and taking the spliff from his fingers to fill his mouth with smoke just to avoid speaking for some more drawn out seconds.

"I like it like this." George has to actually strain his ears to hear him as Matty's words hardly form a whisper that's muffled by his chest.

"Like what?" George asks as he takes a last drag and leans over to stub it out in the ashtray on the table, unaware of the pang of _something_ that comes out of nowhere to churn Matty's stomach at George's tone.

Matty hates how indifferent and confused he sounds because he's about ninety eight percent certain that George knows exactly what he's talking about but deliberately chooses to play oblivious. To be fair Matty shouldn't have gone anywhere near the subject if he wanted to avoid feeling this deflated, but he is known for having trouble keeping his mouth shut when he should, especially when feelings are involved. In his defense, the affection he feels for the man right in this moment is not something he can easily ignore because it is new as in it somehow being stronger than it’s been in a while, or perhaps, than ever before. It must be the distance they have been keeping that’s melted away now seemingly so easily, or perhaps it is all an effect of the weed he's just smoked but his stoned brain seems to lean towards the former.

Maybe George is expecting an answer but Matty'd much rather not give one anyway because that would be touching that subject again and he's far too comfortable between his legs, lying back on his chest, to disrupt this moment in any way. So he offers George a smile and settles on his chest, drawing patterns on his bare arm with the pads of his fingers while George’s are softly petting his hair. They sit like this for a while, and Matty is close to drifting off, having forgotten of the boys coming over until there’s a knock on the door, and Matty groans loudly because he’d much rather he stayed like this for the rest of the day.

"Come on. Up." The man underneath him nudges him and Matty gets off George and to his feet with a groan.

Adam carries a paper bag with a couple bottles of booze as he and Ross walk in when Matty throws the door open and jerks his chin up as means of greeting them, then takes the bag to peek inside – cheap red wine – and kicks the door closed behind him as the two men make their way into the living room.

"Can't you open a window when you're getting high?" Ross complains half-heartedly. George scoffs.

"You don't care when you're in on it." George raises an eyebrow.

"Roll another to make me shut up then." Ross nudges his head towards the bag of weed on the coffee table as he plops down in the armchair. Adam takes a seat on the sofa and lets the smaller of the four take up the space next to George, while he rolls them a spliff to shut Ross up, but honestly because just one doesn't seem to do it for him anymore.

Minutes later the bottles are opened and a spliff is being passed around along with the bottles since Matty insisted they don't need glasses. For the first time no one really has the intention of getting absolutely fucked, probably because three quarters of the group have jobs to make it to in the morning but one would like to think that it's not that.

George orders two large pizzas while Matty puts a movie on; one that Ross suggested and insisted is good but to Matty looks kind of shitty, but they watch it and enjoy it anyway, while drinking and smoking and chatting comfortably, like the good old days, when they had nothing to worry about apart from planning some gig in some bar or whatever to make just enough money for weed and alcohol and perhaps instruments and equipment.

Matty is feeling great; better than he's felt in so long and briefly praises himself for the great idea of inviting Ross and Adam over and how nice it was of them to bring wine, even though they probably had some in the cupboard already, but still. He's feeling so good and judging by the way Adam's somehow made it to the floor leaning back against the sofa and Ross has slipped so far down the armchair it looks like he's melting, and George doesn't complain as Matty climbs in his lap, so does everyone else.

Soon after the end credits roll up on the TV screen the bottles are empty and nobody's feeling up to going to the kitchen to bring another, or rolling another spliff, everyone has resorted to cigarettes and put on music on low. They sit mostly in silence, with a comment about something or other here and there, deciding it's probably better to not have anymore and wait to come down from their high since Ross and Adam soon have to drive home, and George has to get up early in the morning, although Matty doesn't see much reason in it, seeing as he mostly works at home.

A$AP Rocky comes on and Matty taps his fingers to the beat against the side of George’s neck as the latter quietly raps out the lyrics in Matty’s ear. Ross rolls his eyes at the intimacy and takes a sip of his water.

Adam makes a sound to the back of his throat as he inhales from his fag. “What happened to that boy who wanted to put a record out?” he asks, leaning back and crossing his legs at the ankle.

“What, that cunt who thinks he’s a rapper?” Ross sneers behind his glass.

George snorts at that, and rubs at a bloodshot eye with the heel of his palm. “’S been driving me crazy. So fucking difficult that one. Takes up too much of my time.” Matty  lets out a groan that’s between a confirmation and a complaint and George’s chest shakes a bit with quiet laughter as he pats Matty’s back.

“That why you’ve fucking disappeared lately?” Ross asks mildly accusatorily and George raises his eyebrows in an expression that asks ‘what are you on about’. “Got any idea when was the last time we talked?”

“I rang you,” George argues.

“Yeah, like, once two weeks ago.”

“’T was last Monday.”

Ross scoffs. “My point still stands,” Ross says defiantly, crossing his arms against his chest and leaning back against the armchair.

“Well,” George brushes him off and brushes away a strand of curly hair that's tickling his face. Adam laughs quietly at the exchange.

“What’s he been up to?” he asks with a light jerk of his chin towards the man currently with his thighs on either side of George’s legs.

Matty doesn’t respond and Adam laughs again because it looks like Matty might have fallen asleep on George but George shakes his shoulder lightly, making him raise his head from where it’s buried in George’s neck, and his stomach twist because George is obviously tense under him.

“Wha?” Matty slurs looking between the other three in confusion. George shifts a bit, making Matty get half off his lap, and clears his throat with no intention to speak though.

“What‘ve you been up to while George was sucking up to the next Johnny Gunz?” Ross sniggers, unaware of the tension between the two men on the settee, as Matty finally realizes why George looks so uncomfortable.

Matty is a bit taken aback but it is the beginnings of a potential panic attack that have his insides all churned up.

He doesn’t speak, in all honesty he can't; his intoxicated brain can’t come up with a good enough lie to tell instead of revealing what exactly he’s really been doing during these last two weeks; the last thing he wants is another lecture about it. He’s a bit surprised, not because he wasn’t expecting Adam and Ross to question him about it but because he hasn't conjured up a realistic enough story, and, for fuck's sake, he didn't expect for it to come up now when they are all pleasantly pissed. He's more surprised though that, while he’s busy racking his brain and gaping like a fish, George decides to speak up.

“Come on, Matty. Ross’s asked you a question. What have you been up to?” he nudges him with his elbow while Ross and Adam look on with confusion written on their faces. Matty can't help but stare at him with his mouth fallen open because George’s tone drips with bitterness and spite and it’s making his panicking worse and this isn’t what he expects of George at all; probably because in his mind they are _alright_ – but just in there.

He is left opening and closing his mouth for some more seconds as he’s digging in his head for something to say. “I-I got a new job,” is what he eventually comes up with and it’s half the truth anyway but he doesn't feel particularly proud of the idea, mainly because it’s bound to provoke even more questions that he’d have to come up with more lies for – not that he would be able to feel any sort of pride right now.

“That’s good, mate. What kind of job?” Ross seems interested and Matty is left sweating and slightly nauseous no matter that two minutes ago he was feeling the most relaxed he had in weeks.

“I- Um. Just- S-Sainsbury's. Just down the street.” He thinks he might have made it out of this for now, as he vaguely points somewhere to his left thankfully pointing to the right direction, but he's soon to discover that he's in reality far from it.

“Cool, man,” Ross comments but George speaks over him.

“But that’s not quite true, Matty mate. Is it?” Everyone is left staring at George confused as ever, maybe thinking that George has finally lost it, but most likely trusting him more than they do Matty. Matty is not confused at all about what George is implying here and feels his stomach drop and his mouth suddenly goes dry.

“George-”

George ignores Matty whisper-shouting his name and continues looking at him in the eye, as if he's challenging him to lie again. “Come on then. Tell Hann and Ross what kinda job you got yourself.” George's tone seems to become more and more snide and Matty feels like a child.

“Do you have sex for money or something?” sensing the change in the atmosphere Adam tries to lighten the mood by joking, but nobody seems to get it, or care for that matter, judging by the dry laugh that leaves George's lips.

“Not quite.”

“Please, can we drop this now?” Matty pleads, screwing his eyes shut for a moment.

He looks like he's about to break down and this seems to affect Ross and Adam but not George who, once again, like he hasn't heard him at all, announces “Matty is dealing again,” and silence falls over the room.

Ross and Adam stare at George for a moment trying to figure out if this is a joke, but it sure as hell doesn't seem like one by the way George is looking at Matty, who cowers under their gaze, like he's getting a kick out of seeing him like this.

They are all very much aware of what this means –Matty in the business again – and what effect this would have on George because things didn't go quite well the last time and even if things do go well this time George is biased and the pressure on him right now must be unbearable, but George's behavior doesn't sit well with either of them; it feels a bit uncalled for and unfair on Matty, but for some minutes neither of them can speak.

Adam is the first to break the silence, although he chooses not to mention how cruel the younger one is being, in case this forces the situation to get into sides, and this is the last thing anyone needs. “Matty, you could have asked for help. We _would_ have helped you, you know that, right?” His voice is soft as not to upset him any further but all it does is make Matty feel even smaller.

“Yeah, mate," Ross agrees. There's a pause that Matty's probably supposed to fill if the eyes he feels burning holes on him once again is anything to go by but he's not ready to look at them yet. "I asked if you needed money to pay off, we could have lent you some. We could have-”

“It wouldn’t have made any difference. It wouldn't have been enough- I-I couldn’t-” Matty starts explaining but, for the third time in the last ten minutes, George cuts him off for the sake of throwing in another snide comment that does nothing to help with Matty's currently ever-decreasing confidence.

“Nah, because he didn’t have a choice – isn’t that right, Matt?”  

George is looking at Matty again – staring at him – like he's trying to peek into his mind or like he's looking to find the tears that have started prickling at his eyes to make sure he’s done a good job breaking him but Matty doesn't give him a chance to inspect further as he shoves at his shoulder hard and shoots up from the couch. He disappears in the hallway and into the bedroom, slamming the door behind him with such force that it feels like the walls vibrate with it.

With large strides he paces around the room; back and forth from the bed to the window, trying to gain control of himself somehow; he hasn’t cried in weeks and he’s not about to do so now just because George, his _best_ _fucking mate_ , is being such a fucking prick.

He felt so humiliated, so small, so _stupid_ back there – kind of like he felt when he first told George but somehow this was so much worse, so much more intense, like he was feeling everything twice as hard – and perhaps Ross and Adam being there while this was discussed had something to do with it, or perhaps, it was the way it was forced to happen without Matty himself taking any part in it.

This wasn't even a discussion, Matty thinks bitterly – because of course it wasn't a discussion when he, the subject of it all, didn't get a word in because his excuse of a best mate was too busy letting his hatred steer the conversation to make him the villain in front of their mates, instead of actually – oh, I don’t know – considering Matty's feelings for one bloody second. It wouldn't have taken longer for him to take a step back and see how this was hurting him and stop, or perhaps have a different approach if it was so important that Adam and Ross were told right there and then, but of course this wasn't possible since, Matty concludes, all George wanted was exactly this; to hurt him, to get his revenge.

And maybe the concept of it is hurting him more than what actually happened back there, which in fact is just an extension of it; something in the way that George appeared to be so cruel, so cold, so detached from Matty's deeds and feelings and Matty himself makes an ache bloom in his chest that makes it hard for him to breathe as a sob rises in his throat and the first tear escapes from his eyes.

He catches it with the back of his hand before it can form a trail down his cheek, while he goes to rummage through the drawers on his nightstand for his pack of cigs – he must have put it here somewhere. By the time he gives up with a kick at it that knocks his pile of books off, he's full-on sobbing and no matter how many breaths he's taking in or how many tears he wipes away fresh ones appear in his eyes and flow down his face and he is almost certain that he can be heard over to the living room but he can't bring himself to care at all. The thought of his cries making George feel guilty is making him feel this little bit better actually.

As he sits curled up on the bed, he forces himself to think clearly just for a moment; no matter what his friends might think, he knows – no; he's absolutely certain he's doing the right thing. Even though it seems stupid and reckless and like a decision he made on the spur of a moment, he's thought this through, and about any other possible solutions to his life-or-death situation, but nothing else could grand him the amount of money he has to hand in to his creditors in the three months that they promised to let him off before they bash his head in. He needs to collect thousands in such a short time that it was just expected that he would have to get a job where he could make so much and since he doesn't have the time to climb the social ladder up to a respectful position in a large firm or something, dealing drugs is the next best thing, considering the position was practically already his anyway.

This doesn't do much, however, to help him feel like any less of an idiot, considering all his friends now do think of him as one, or any less humiliated or defeated over the whole situation.

Matty tells himself he feels like this because no one understands how hard this is for him and how much of a sacrifice he's making to save himself and consequently George, which is of course the case partially, but he's painfully aware he wouldn't be feeling this shit if the person he puts all his trust in wasn’t so against him right now.

He doesn't want to see George; he knows he inevitably will which is a problem, and even goes as far as to think how much better it would be if George went to stay with Ross or Adam or John or one of his exes for the night, or for a few days, or if this was a permanent situation: if George had chosen to share a flat with somebody else because then Matty wouldn't have to tell him what he's been doing when he doesn't come home until three in the morning or why he smells like expensive cigars and he wouldn't have to see him tonight or tomorrow because he's angry, he’s feeling bitter and the last thing he needs is to blow off at him and drag them back into another big fight and deafening silence for days.

He considers going to bed to avoid talking to George for now but before he’s made the decision the door to the bedroom opens and in walks no one else but the man Matty wants to see less right now.

George stands awkwardly in the doorway for a moment, looking at Matty like he wasn't expecting to find him there, or maybe, he was expecting him to be asleep, like Matty was planning on doing, or at least to be pretending, before he walks in and gingerly closes the door behind him like he’s afraid any noise too loud might set Matty off.

He makes his way to the foot of their bed and stands there, not looking at Matty, while opening and closing his mouth for so long that Matty starts thinking that he might not speak at all.

“Ross and Hann just left,” is what he settles for as a pathetic attempt to make the tension between them dissipate before he starts saying what he knows he needs to and what he finds so hard to voice.

“Good.” George sighs at Matty’s obviously – and quite justifiably – stroppy mood. Matty isn’t going to make this easy, like he hoped.

"I'm sorry, Matty," he says eventually and Matty narrows his eyes at him and tilts his head to the side but otherwise doesn't move at all. "I really am. I shouldn't have said what I said."

Matty shakes his head and looks down at his hands in his lap.

"Look. I know. I acted like a prick, I shouldn't have." Matty doesn't respond. "I didn't mean to act like this, I swear. I just-"

"You did, though." Matty suddenly looks up at him with an unreadable expression and it’s now George’s turn to feel small under his gaze.

"I know. I’m sorry."

Matty nods. "And what do you expect me to do now, huh?"

“I just- I-I don’t know.”

“You’re a shit mate, you know.”

George is lost for words. He expected Matty to be pissed at him, but he hasn’t been this cold with him in a long time. Even though he is used to Matty’s harsh words at times, this time around his tone drips with venom and his words bite like frost, and George doesn’t know how to react to that. “Matty-”

"And you wanna know why? Because you just don’t fuckin’ care, do you.”

And it takes this long for George to unfreeze and actually feel hurt. “That’s not true.” Frowning, he shakes his head, not being quite able to comprehend how Matty can truly believe this. “Of course I fucking care.”

“You only ever care about what’s ‘ _right_ ’, not about _me_ , not about how _I_ fucking feel,” Matty screams as he stands up from the bed and takes a step closer to George. “You never understand, you don't even fucking _try_ to understand!” In all honesty, even though he is actually hurt and angry, Matty is mostly putting on a show at this point, but he can’t really help it; he’s feeling frustrated and he wants to take his anger out somehow and George being his ever calm self is making his frustration worse. He is just after a reaction.

He gets it as George’s eyes flash with hurt for a split second, then they’re burning with anger. “Yeah – you know why?” he spits, “‘Cause you’re always making decisions on the spot, you don’t think, you just act, you are reckless and expect good to come from everything, because _‘I_ _always have great ideas, George’_ ,” he goes for a higher pitched tone to mock Matty’s voice, “but that’s not how it is, is it? You never see the weight of any situation, you never consider how your decisions affect others.”

“Fuck off, George. You didn’t have to out me like that.”

George closes his eyes for a moment and runs his fingers through his hair. “I know, I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking.”

”What I don’t understand is why you are so pissed off with me over this.”

“Because I’m fucking worried about you!” George screams at him, his fingers tugging at his hair in frustration.

“Again, I didn’t have a fucking choice! What was I supposed to do? Sit here and pray that I don’t get killed off? Or sit around and wait for you to make enough money from the shitty projects you take up to feed us both, pay rent and save my sorry arse? I’m doing this for us, _both of us_ , you cunt!” 

“No,” George growls, “This isn’t about _us_. This is about _you_. You went running back to Tony the moment things got hard. Because you’ve missed this.”

“No, I haven’t,” Matty scoffs, although he knows this is nothing but a lie.

“Yes, you bloody have. You’ve missed making easy money, that’s why you lost ten fucking grand gambling! You’ve missed hanging around there, with the girls and the drugs-”

“I told you I’m not doing that again!” Matty shrieks. “I’m not going to slip again, George!”

“I don’t believe you!” George all but screams back. “I want you to quit, I want you out of there tomorrow, Matty, or I swear.”

Matty laughs a bitter laugh that sends chills down George’s spine as their eyes meet. “You swear what, George? What are you going to do? Isolate me from everyone again?” Matty spits out without thinking, a wave of heart-wrenching guilt washing over him a moment later at the grimace of pain George’s face takes on.

“Don’t bring that in right now. How many times do I have to apologise? I did it for you, I thought it was going to help,” George pleads with him, “Matty, please. Do it for me. Just quit before it’s too late again.”

“Are you fucking dense? Or do you mean for me to believe you have forgotten all about how things are in the business?”

“I know how things are but-”

“Then you know I can’t fucking quit now. You quit pestering me about this when you know I don’t have a choice. I’m going to make things right for us, for you, and then-”

“ _For me_ ,” George repeats in exasperation. “This isn’t about me at all is it? When you don’t fucking care what I think and how I feel. This is all about you. You think _everything_ ’s always about you, and God forbid anyone ever denies you anything because you’ll throw a fit. You fucking child!”

Somewhere between not wanting to talk about tonight at all and wanting to resolve the issue this gets into a battlefield where they use accusations as ammunition against each other and pointing out each other’s flaws which they both usually put up with because it’s never seemed to be this much an issue before, their only goal being to hurt and they both make it.

Matty scoffs in an attempt to hide it. “Well, I suppose I am a child then,” he says, crossing his arms against his chest but it looks more like he’s trying to protect himself instead of a gesture of defiance. “That’s just how I am, innit. That’s how I’ve always been. Nothing new here.” Matty squints up at George, done screaming now. “You didn’t seem to have a problem with it ever before,” his voice doesn’t miss the tint of his ever-present bravado but it’s more quiet and although what he says is supposed to come out as an accusation it sounds more like a question even to Matty’s ears.

George shakes his head. “You think I didn’t? With you doing whatever you like and not giving a shit about how it’s going to affect me? Or the others?”

Matty’s mouth falls open a little at George’s words, because they hurt. He shakes his head heavily to snap out of his momentary shock. “I-I thought- We were dealing just fine and you-”

“Yeah, well,” George runs a hand through his hair. “I can’t deal with it anymore, Matty,” he says evenly, aiming to stop their offhand fight and coax Matty into an actual civil conversation with him – or maybe not.

He realizes he’s failed when Matty frowns and comes up with an accusatory: “You can’t deal with _me_.”

“No, I didn’t mean that, I meant-” George huffs frustratedly, “This whole thing – It’s driving me fucking crazy, Matty!”

They’ve both reached the point where they have lost any will to reconcile, or talk about this civilly, because the more they speak the more they hurt each other and themselves. But of course none of the two is willing to back down either, more so Matty who can’t think straight right now. In the space of a minute he has convinced himself that George’s words mean he isn’t wanted anymore, and his first reaction is to push George away, or maybe just to get another reaction – he isn’t sure what kind of reaction that would be but he hopes to find out when he gets it.

So he shoots back a response that’s set to cover both, his tone so gravely that it almost sounds sincere. “You can fuck off out of here then.”

George doesn’t respond the way Matty expected. He is just standing there staring back with a glint in his eye that Matty isn't quite sure of what it is.

A moment later George sighs and Matty thinks that George will speak and he will finally get what he wants, however, all George says is "I'll sleep on the sofa," and Matty certainly wasn't after this.

 

~*~

 

It’s almost summer and it’s been getting gradually warmer lately so Matty finds it odd when he wakes up in the middle of the night shivering under his duvet cover.

The air in the flat is, as per usual, chilly even for late May but Matty has never been cold in bed before – save for the times he was ill, and maybe the times when he couldn’t afford to pay rent so they had the heating cut off completely. During the times when he isn’t ill though, and the weather is good enough so there is no need for heating, as is now, Matty is pleasantly warm, if not uncomfortably hot in bed hence why he is sleeping in just shorts if anything. He doesn’t put it past the English weather to have gotten colder to the point of it feeling like the middle autumn instead of late spring overnight but he considers that to be slightly unlikely at this time of the year.

Holding the duvet tightly under his chin he scoots backwards in search of the warmth he is used to radiating off the other man’s body but when his back doesn’t soon come into contact with some part of George’s he instinctively shoots upright, ignoring the rush of cold air under the covers that have him shivering even more.

The bed is empty except for the small space occupied by Matty’s curled up body, the larger man nowhere to be seen. Matty’s brain is confused in its sleep muddled state as he tries to remember of the reason why George isn’t in bed in these early hours of the day, and when he can’t come up with anything he tries to make out his own reasons for the man’s absence.

He thinks George might have gone to the bathroom but Matty is certain he has been lying awake in bed for so long that George would have come back by now. Then perhaps the younger man could have gotten hungry and got up for a snack, or maybe a smoke or perhaps inspiration hit him in his sleep and he had to produce some beat before he forgets and so he would spend about an hour on his laptop but still, he wouldn’t leave bed with the risk of Matty waking up and not finding him there.

It takes some time for his brain to adjust to being fully awake and provide him with the actual reason George has left their bed, or, to be exact, hasn’t slept in it at all, which is now quite clear to Matty as he looks at George’s side of the bed that is clearly not slept-in, apart from the duvet that’s all wrapped around Matty. When the realization hits him so does a wave of sadness that comes along with the memories of a few hours ago.

It hurts thinking he’s fucked up so much more than he thought possible even for himself. George’s intention was to apologize and all Matty did was rile him and ruin it all and make George sleep on the sofa, which will most probably leave him with a crick in his neck and a stiff back.

Matty has half a mind to get up and go beg George come to bed for the remaining hours of the night; hell, he will drag him back here if he has to although he knows it wouldn’t take much convincing for the younger man to comply. However, he lies back down and wraps the duvet closer around his body as he moves closer to George’s side, partly because he hopes it will look slept-in in the morning and he might be able to pretend they didn’t spend an entire night apart, and partly because he hopes the scent of his aftershave and his shampoo on his pillow will lull him to sleep.

 

~*~

 

By the time Matty is up George has left the flat with the excuse of his laptop acting up and having to work at his client’s place, which Matty learns about when he texts him asking where he is and what time he will be back. He doesn’t get an answer to the latter and actually he very much doubts George’s laptop is broken but doesn’t question him neither does he dwell on it for any longer.

When George comes back it’s a little past seven and he finds Matty on the settee with his notebook balanced on his knees as his pen slides on the pages swiftly. They greet each other with nothing more but awkward nods, then George disappears down the hallway. Matty mentally prepares what he’s going to say when George comes out of the bedroom to have something to eat or watch some telly or whatever it is he wants to do tonight, because he wants to make things right between them, apologise for what he said the night before and explain his side of it all so George can understand and forgive him, he needs that more than anything right now.

All plans of discussion about the previous night fly out of the window when George reappears in the doorway to the living room barely ten minutes later.

Matty’s eyes roam past him in the hallway, by the door where a suitcase and a duffel bag are carefully laid on the floor. His stomach drops and he can practically feel the blood being drained from his face and his arms numbing as he builds up the courage to look back up at him.

“What are you doing?” he chokes up, refusing to believe what he already knows is happening.

George, who was staring at his feet, meets Matty’s gaze and his eyes are void of emotion as he shrugs one shoulder. “Fucking off.”

Matty finds himself back in their bedroom the night before, telling George to fuck off, and he for some time is unable to move or speak until George bends down to pick up his bag and sling it over his shoulder. “I-I didn’t mean it like that,” he stammers as he shakily gets up from the sofa and approaches George.

“How did you mean it then?” George’s voice is cold, so cold Matty feels his heart freeze over inside his chest in fear and his eyes glaze over as they start watering up embarrassingly fast. There’s a moment then when he would swear the man’s façade melts away for a split second and there’s guilt in his eyes, but Matty can’t be sure because his vision is blurry with tears, and the expression on George’s face disappears in seconds without a trace.

George waits around for a moment more, expecting Matty to say something, anything, but the older man’s words get caught up in his throat and never make it past his lips. He’s frozen in place and all he can do is watch as George shakes his head, picks up his other bag and leaves.

 

~*~

 

He gets fucked that night and, after taking a taxi home, he passes out the moment his head hits the pillow.

 

~*~

 

He’s woken up by loud rapping on the door and the first thing he notices is how the muffled sound coming through the bedroom door has his head pounding so hard Matty would have thought it was actually being split open if he wasn’t so painfully sober. The pillow he throws over his head doesn’t do much to make the intrusive noise go away. He’s terribly hangover and he just wishes whoever is at the door – at eleven in the fucking morning – would fuck off and come back later when he’s downed a bottle of aspirins or maybe never.

The knocking stops and Matty sighs in relief as he gets deeper under the covers but just as he thinks he can go back to sleep the knocking comes back louder than before. Matty groans in defeat and gets out of bed. “Coming,” he croaks.

He pads into the hallway wrapped in a protective cocoon of duvet, cursing everything in the known universe that he can’t even get some fucking rest.

He opens the door and even though Matty is happy he’s not going to get murdered this early in the morning he isn’t quite happy at all to see Ross standing there.

“Took you long enough.” Ross walks in and takes in the state the smaller man is in; wild hair all over the place and dark circles under his eyes and in the clothes he was presumably wearing the night before. “What happened to you?”

“Good morning to you too,” Matty grumpily replies and lifts the duvet up to wear it like a hood over his head.

“’Morning. What happened to you?” Ross asks and Matty winces.

“ _Not so loud_.”

“Right,” Ross snickers and closes the door behind him before making his way into the kitchen and flicking the kettle on. “You are hangover.”

“Mmm.” Matty takes a seat at the table and takes his phone out from his back pocket which is digging into his skin and rests his head against the cool surface of the table.

Ross searches through the cupboards until he finds some aspirins, offering Matty two pills and a glass of water before going to set two mugs on the counter for their tea.

“Ta.”

Ross watches as Matty takes his pills and downs the water in just a few gulps, then focuses on making the tea again. “How much did you drink anyway?” Matty makes an attempt to laugh.

“ _A lot_.”

“That much is obvious,” Ross comments as he brings Matty his cup and sits down opposite him with his mug between his hands. He watches as the curly haired man weakly lifts the cup to his lips and takes a careful sip of the hot liquid then replaces the cup in his hand with his phone. “You okay?” Ross asks casually as he takes a sip from his own tea. Matty briefly takes his eyes off his phone to frown at him. “I mean, after the other night.”

“Oh.” Matty lowers his eyes again and his frown deepens. “I’m fine.”

“Right.” Ross doesn’t know how to bring this up since Matty seems more than reluctant to talk about this like he’s always been and the last thing he wants is to make things worse but for the life of him he can’t come up with a good enough way to coax Matty to speak apart for the most obvious. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Matty sighs. “Not really.”

“I think you should,” Ross insists making Matty roll his eyes. Can’t he just get some peace for a bit while he’s trying to deal with yet another problem he’s caused? “This is quite serious you know?”

Matty is definitely irritated at this point and Ross half expects him to bring up the topic of George already but all he says is “Don’t you have anything better to do than pester me?”

“We’re going to have to talk about it eventually, you know. Better do it sooner rather than later,” Ross announces and this time he doesn’t wait for Matty to protest. “Why are you dealing again?”

“We’ve already talked about this,” Matty groans.

“Yes, we have,” Ross agrees, “ _You_ haven’t though.”

“I’m sure George did a great job at explaining the situation,” Matty offers him an exaggerated false smirk, momentarily looking up from his phone. “What’s more to talk about?”

“I want to know your side of the story,” Ross sighs. Some time passes and Matty hasn’t responded so Ross pushes, “How much did you need?”

“Ten grand,” Matty sighs. “Listen. Why does it matter now? I’ve already found a way to pay off.”

“There were many other ways to do that without having to turn to a druglord-”

“Oh fuck off.” Matty looks at him and shakes his head. “How could any of you find ten fucking grand?”

“We would have found a way.” Matty shakes his head.

“Why do you even care?” he murmurs.

“This is not just about you. This affects us all— Can you put your fucking phone down for a fucking second so we can talk about this?” Ross raises his voice, not really wanting to go about it this way but deeming it as the last resort to clear things up with Matty, who rolls his eyes and dramatically drops his phone on the table as he leans back in his chair and looks across at him like a child who’s just been told off.

Ross jerks his chin towards the phone. “He’s at mine,” he lets out in a sigh.

“Who?” Matty feigns oblivion even though he visibly tenses up and Ross clearly has his full attention now.

“You know who.” Ross rolls his eyes. “Did you talk to him at all?”

Matty sighs, giving up. “Rang him last night.” he shrugs. “He didn’t answer.”

Ross shakes his head. Of course George didn’t answer; he was still feeling snide and no matter how much Ross would pester him to just give Matty a call back he wouldn’t. “Give him some time. He will come ‘round.”

“Sure,” Matty nods without really believing Ross, and he bites his nails instead of speaking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *TW*
> 
> Mentions of drugs and drug use  
> Mentions of sex  
> Alcohol use


	5. Matty is not well and no one is making it easier for him

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi. This is more of a filler so bear with me. Next part is almost ready so that one's coming pretty soon. 
> 
> Also, I wanted to say all the kudos and comment and hits this story gets makes me want to keep writing and posting this. It's probs my favourite I've ever written to this day and I appreciate it a lot. Thank you.
> 
> Check the notes at the end for possible triggers in the following chapter. Read safe.
> 
> xxx

It’s been a week and Matty has been half expecting George to be back by now; not that he has any good reason to do so, he is mostly hoping he’ll come home one night and find him there, but George is never in when Matty opens the door to the flat and there isn’t any sign indicating that he will be any time soon. And with that Matty’s struggling to find anything to distract himself from everything that’s going on, his moods are getting worse and he’s desperate to find something to get him mind off of it.

His irritability is off the charts the morning he visits an old friend of his dad’s, Paul, who he’s known since he was a child; family doctor and friend, always taking care of his dad and later on, when he got addicted to drugs, taking care of Matty himself. Sometime during that time back then there was a silent agreement between the two that Paul would stop informing his dad of his health problems, or perhaps it was just that Matty brought him money with his regular requests of certain prescription drugs and he didn’t care at all about his well being but either way Matty was more than happy to follow through with this arrangement.

Paul’s office is pristine in crème tones as he’s always remembered it, and his bleach blonde assistant still behind her desk.  She slides her thick rimmed glasses down her nose and glances up at him, allowing the glasses to hang chest-length by the gold chain around her neck as she stands up smoothing down her pencil skirt.

“Good morning. How can I help you?” she greets robotically.

Matty doesn’t stop by her desk, heading straight for the double wooden door across the room. “I need to see Paul,” he informs and the blonde rushes from her desk to block his way, her heels clicking obnoxiously against the wooden floor.

“Do you have an appointment, sir?”

Matty rolls his eyes. “No,” he replied and pushes past her to continue but the woman grabs his arm.

“I’m afraid I can’t let you in then.”

“It’s fine. I’ll let myself in,” he smirks falsely down at her but she pulls his hand off the doorknob.

“He’s busy right now-”

“Oh, I don’t give a shit, I need to see him,” Matty shouts frustratedly, making the woman cower back for a second before she goes to speak again.

She can’t get a word out before the wooden door slides open to reveal the doctor, tall, with his grey hair and crisp suit. “What’s going on here?”

“Sir, this man wanted to see you. I told him you were busy, I-”

“Matthew,” the older man acknowledges him in a formal manner, with a curt nod of his head and eyes scanning his scrawny figure. “It’s alright, Maria. I’m all done with Mrs. Austin,” he says calmly in a thick Scottish accent, turning his attention to the old lady exiting his office. “I’ll see you in two weeks, Mrs. Austin. Don’t hesitate to call me if you need anything.”

The old woman thanks him and bids him farewell, as his assistant, embarrassed and baffled, sits back down behind her desk, clicking some keys on her keyboard to appear busy.

“Come in, Matthew,” the doctor beckons Matty in and shuts the door behind him. “Please, take a seat,” he offers, pointing politely to the leather chair in front of his desk as he moves around it to sit in his own chair, taking a minute to arrange some papers and put on his glasses. “How can I help you?”

“I need pills.”

Paul looks up at him over his red rimmed glasses that have slipped down his nose, with a raised eyebrow. It’s clear that he wants to ask a question, maybe two, but he doesn’t and Matty’s thankful for that. He nods once and lets out a breath through his nose. He picks up his notebook and a pen and scribbles something down in neat writing, then picks up his phone to dial a number.

“Mr. Healy with be there shortly to pick up his prescription. Do you remember his info?” Paul pauses, tapping his pen on top of his desk, “Excellent. Thank you,” he says before he hangs up.

“All done, Matthew.  You can go by the pharmacy to get your pills.”

“Thank you,” he says in a release of air, relieved that he will finally be able to sooth his nerves a bit, and takes out his wallet to hand him a hundred pound bill. His visits to Paul are always expensive, but considering he can’t get his prescription anywhere else in the UK he supposes it’s worth it.

“Thank you.”

Matty nods and stands up as Paul does to shake his hand and Matty turns around to leave.

“How’s your father?” the doctor asks as he paces slowly around his desk.

Matty stops and turns around to look at him. “He’s alright.”

“Give him my regards will you.”

Matty smiles weakly and nods once again before he leaves his office and rushes to his car.

 

George hasn’t contacted him yet, and neither has Matty, save for the calls and messages that he stopped sending after the third day of them going completely ignored.

Matty thought that ignoring George and the whole situation would make it easier but it didn’t quite do that. He is merely going through the motions every day – home, The Bull and back home – attempting and succeeding for the most part to keep George off of his mind, especially with the addition of hydrocodone, but it is wearing him down more and more each time he comes back to the flat to find it as empty as he has left it, no matter how high or tired he is.

He likes to think it is just that he is missing having someone else in the flat with him, coming back home to someone sleeping in his bed and falling asleep curled up to them, but most of all he is missing talking to someone that isn’t himself whenever he wants. Deep down, however, he knows he wouldn’t want to do any of that with anybody but George, even though as of lately the night had been the only time he could be himself around him, and even though they weren’t doing much talking at all.

Matty has never been doing well on his own; ever since he left his parents’ house there had been very few periods in his life when he was living alone before he would find a flat mate or stay at a friend’s for so long he could practically call it his. Not surprisingly at all, that friend more often than not happened to be George, but Matty couldn’t help it; he’s always felt like he was allowed to let his true self come to the surface around the younger man because George encouraged it and accepted him more than anyone else ever did. And, sure, he doesn’t have that now, because George is hurt and acts like he hates him but having him around is still very important to Matty, even if that meant angry silence and disappointed looks. It probably has to do with that weird connection they seem to have that they can communicate without having to speak sometimes, and that means knowing when Matty needs to talk on George’s part. And, sure, that communication between them seemed to have vanished these last few weeks but still, the little Matty would tell George about his day, about how he was feeling, or about absolute wank, was making him feel safe and cared for and loved. Now that he doesn’t have that, Matty can practically feel his mental health deteriorating by the hour and quite frankly it is more than a bit pathetic.

Lately, he has been feeling slightly paranoid, slightly depressed, slightly too anxious over anything and everything, but mainly he has been feeling generally and indeterminably _bad_ like George leaving has thrown the balance of the universe off and it is making him feel just slightly hopeless that he isn’t going to ever get that back. He knows this is quite a stupid notion because, with or without George, he can’t be feeling lost forever, but knowing that doesn’t do much to shake the feeling that he has lost his will to do anything and he will be lost till the end of times. 

The more days pass without a word from George the worse the feeling is, so much so actually that Tony notices one night when his mood has his performance dropping dramatically.

“Matty,” his boss stops him just as he is about to leave his office, after having given him a well-meant lecture. “Have you been feeling alright lately?” he asks when he’s crossed the distance between his desk and Matty and is standing too close to him for comfort. His thick eyebrows are knitted together in an expression of concern but Matty has trouble believing it is genuine even in the slightest.

“Yeah – Of course,” Matty rushes to say, body involuntarily leaning away from his. “All fine.”

“Are you sure?” Tony tilts his head and lowers his voice to just above a whisper. “You seem a bit… _distressed_.”

“Oh no. No, I’m fine really,” Matty insists, praying that Tony will drop this play soon and let him go home to wallow in self-pity alone.

Tony lets out a sigh and looks Matty in the eye for some seconds while Matty struggles not to break eye contact before Tony, which Tony does soon – thank God –  for the sake of nonchalantly looking around the room, like he’s weighing his options. He raises his hand and moves it to the inner pocket of his expensive suit jacket and Matty follows the movement as he tries to ignore the uneasy feeling that is blooming in the pit of his stomach.

Tony takes his hand out of the pocket and Matty sees everything like it’s happening in slow motion. Pinched between his fingers is a small plastic bag filled with a familiar white powder that has Matty swallowing hard against the lump that’s forming in his throat a couple times as he feels his stomach drop.

His mind is screaming for him to deny Tony’s small gift but before he can speak a single word of protest Tony has taken his shaking hand between his own and places the bag in his palm, securing it there with Matty’s fingers. “It will make you feel better.”

With a big smile on his face Tony hits him on the shoulder in a friendly manner and Matty finds himself nodding and smiling at the man before turning around and leaving.

He shoves the bag in his pocket as he hurries to his car, closing the door behind him as soon as he’s thrown himself inside and looking around anxiously, relaxing only when he’s sure no one’s around, but he’s still on edge, eyes darting about the street, fingers stiff on the wheel.

It’s odd, how he feels so paranoid and dirty for having some grams of cocaine in the front pocket of his jeans when he’s been carrying pounds of it in his car every night, but he can’t help it, driving home as fast as possible like he’s being chased.

As soon as he’s in his flat he locks the door and heads to the bathroom, kneeling down to hide the bag behind the sink.

Tony wasn’t right of course, because the cocaine made him feel anything but good. It’s constantly on his mind and he can’t fall asleep that night. He gives up on getting any shuteye and instead tries to relax and somehow control his out-of-control heartbeat but with no luck. No matter what he does to take his mind off of it he is feeling irrationally anxious about the drugs that are hidden in his bathroom like someone’s going to burst in and catch him doing something bad.

Matty can’t help but wonder how George would react if he knew. He would be extremely mad at him for even bringing it home and he would without a doubt flush it down the toilet the moment he’d get his hands on it, but now he’s not here to scold Matty or start another fight with him and Matty wonders whether George would come back if Matty let him know what he’s done.

He wouldn’t put it past George to do so, but Matty isn’t going to call him at five in the morning and the silence in the flat reminds him that even if he did George wouldn’t come over, because now George doesn’t want to get involved and, anyway, he wouldn’t care so much to run to Matty’s rescue.

His mind flies back to the powder. He finds that he remembers how it looked in neat lines on the basin, he remembers the texture of it on his fingers and on his gums, but sadly he can’t remember the feeling, the excitement, the rush it fuelled him with.

Briefly he wonders what bad it would be if he tried just bit, for the good old days, but shakes the thought out of his mind quickly, deciding he’s just lonely and he probably just needs something to get his mind off of everything for a bit, and soon wanders into the kitchen in search of a bottle of tequila he’s been saving for special occasions, and his bottle of pills.

 

~*~

 

“We’ll be there in ten to pick you up,” Ross announces on the phone, sending Matty into a mini panic attack.

“No you’re not,” he says quickly, sitting upright in bed.

“Yes we are,” Ross insists and Matty can tell he is smiling. “We’re going to a party. Better be ready when we get there.”

“I don’t want to go to a party,” Matty tries to protest again but his efforts are futile.

“It’s this or a movie night at yours. You decide.” Ross hangs up before Matty can get another word in.

He sits there with his phone pressed against his ear opening and closing his mouth and trying to come up with a believable excuse for when Ross arrives with whoever he decided to bring with this time, but in reality he knows he can’t get out of doing something with him tonight, and a party is by just a little a better option than having Ross pester him again, even though he’d much rather just stay in bed on his only day off, for fuck’s sake.

He lies back down and lights a cigarette in an attempt to sooth his nerves but anxiety has settled heavy like stones in the pit of his stomach. Perhaps he needs something better than tobacco right now but he hasn’t got around to replenishing his weed supplies yet; that would require him to go outside in broad daylight and since he started working at night he doesn’t really have the energy to go out unless he absolutely has to, and even though weed is important, alright, he’d much rather sleep his day away than drive to meet his dealer.

It’s not just that he isn’t feeling particularly excited for some random person’s party with too many people he doesn’t know, which will make it feel more or less like every other night. It’s the idea of seeing people, or maybe a certain person, which could possibly mean talking about things he isn’t ready to even think about again, but perhaps, if they reached the point of civil conversation he could avoid it with the excuse of the too loud music, or being too high or too drunk to speak.

His cigarette burns out far too soon and he’s ready to light another when there’s a knock on the door that signals the end of his peaceful loneliness and the beginning of a dreadful night he’s not looking forward to at all. Reluctantly he gets out of bed and pads to the door to answer it.

Likely Ross has brought only Hann and John with him; Matty can handle those two for a few hours.

“I said ‘be ready’, didn’t I?” Ross rolls his eyes and crosses his arms, eyeing Matty’s underwear.

Matty shrugs one shoulder and smiles cheekily. “Didn’t hear you.”

“You did hear me perfectly well, you little shit. Now go get ready.”

“Do I have to?” Matty stomps his foot on the floor like a child and Ross just smiles.

“We can stay in but I wouldn’t like to keep Alli waiting.”

Matty sighs. Allison is Ross’s current girlfriend and even though Matty can see why he likes her, with her radiant personality and her witty humour, she never really got a liking to Matty and therefore she wasn’t Matty’s favourite person either when she is constantly bashing him for everything and anything he does or says. Matty is trying just for Ross’ sake to be nice ever since they got together.

“Fine.” Matty rolls his eyes. “Just going to hop in the shower.” He gestures towards the living room and walks away as the three men settle on the sofa.

“Don’t take too long.” Ross calls after him making Matty roll his eyes again.

He washes as slowly as he can, eager to stall as much as possible so he won’t have to stay at that bloody party for longer than necessary; he is considering having a wank while he’s at it but the water’s running cold and makes the decision for him.

With a towel around his waist he morosely pads to the bedroom and over to his closet to find something to wear. As he draws it open though, he is painfully reminded of George at the absence of his clothes in there.

“Fuck,” he heaves out, raking a hand through his wet locks. He blindly walks backwards with his hands covering his face and falls back on the bed.

He wonders if Ross would forget and go to the party without him if he stayed here for long enough but he knows that the answer to that is probably no.

It isn’t that Ross, or the others, wouldn’t understand if Matty explained how he feels but the thing is Matty hasn’t done that and he isn’t planning on it because he already feels too pathetic wallowing in self-pity. He is almost certain that they know what’s going on, possibly because George has talked to them about it and his explaining would be enough for anyone close to Matty to have an understanding of Matty’s feelings. Whether Matty was eager to admit it or not, Ross, Adam and John, and a few other people perhaps, all cared about him, but Ross especially was letting it show a bit too much for Matty’s liking. Matty wishes he would just drop being the dad for a bit, because being the dad essentially means he is right most if not all of the time so of course he must be right to think that seeing some people outside of ‘work’ will do Matty some good. Matty absolutely hates that.

He isn’t exactly opposed to going because something good will come out of this whether it being blacking out from having too much alcohol or getting his mind off of things, latter of which is very unlikely in Matty’s opinion. Although he won’t admit it he is scared of going to a party, which might not be drugs related which would be nice for once, but he will be going with his friends which means that George may be there. He isn’t certain though about what he is most afraid of; George being there or George not going. He would be essentially lying if he claimed he isn’t dying to see him but that doesn’t mean he is ready to in any way.

They haven’t talked in almost two weeks now, which has never happened before in their ten years of friendship, and that was very not them which means that the real reason George left, whether it was Matty’s business or all the shit that left his mouth that night, or a combination of both, Matty thinks, was very serious and can’t be resolved by just seeing each other and apologizing, although that would be a good start.

So, Matty is very eager to avoid the awkward meeting with his best mate – or ex best mate – after two weeks, but he is somehow very certain that George not attending the party will leave him more disappointed and frustrated than relieved.

There’s a soft knock on the bedroom door that snaps him out of his thoughts and then Adam is poking his head through the crack.

“You were taking too long and I thought I’d check on you.” Matty sits up and offers him a small smile. “Why aren’t you dressed yet?” Adam asks as he walks inside and closes the door behind him. “Ross is losing his patience.”

Matty huffs a little laugh that judging by the wary step Adam takes forward isn’t very convincing.

“Are you alright?” the older man asks with concern.

“Yeah, yeah.” Matty shrugs. “Just thinking.”

“’Bout George?” Matty shrugs again as he chews at the side of his thumb. “Do you want to talk about it?” Adam asks, taking a seat on the bed next to Matty.

“’S nothing, really.” Matty responds and it comes out as hardly a whisper.

“You haven’t talked to him yet?” Matty frowns and shakes his head. “You should, I think.”

Matty shakes his head again, still looking at the floorboards and not at Adam. “Not yet.”

Adam nods in understanding; he was expecting Matty to be closed off after George just left like that and then refused to talk to him at all, and even though Adam thinks this is childish on both parts, he doesn’t want to push things. “Maybe you should try though,” he says instead of voicing his thoughts and in his attempt to go for a careful approach it sounds more like a question.

Matty shrugs again, not really feeling up to arguing with someone over this again; this discussion seems to repeat itself every other day and Matty is sick of not being understood and treated like a child.

Adam is the only one who seems to get that to a certain extend and lets out a sigh of resignation. “He’s not coming tonight,” he informs him and Matty isn’t surprised at having being right about feeling disappointed at his absence. “But you should. You will feel better. I promise,” Adam says softly squeezing Matty’s shoulder, who rolls his eyes but nods, mostly so they can drop the subject and get this over with already. “Get dressed now, yeah?” He pats his back reassuringly and gets up from the bed to leave.

Matty lets out a soft groan and sighs as he gets up. He doesn’t put any care in picking a baggy sweater and his unwashed ripped jeans that look too shaggy on his frame.

 

The party is full of people seemingly consuming every room in the house, the music is loud enough to feel the bass vibrating through his chest, the alcohol is in fair amounts for everyone, the atmosphere is heavy with smoke and the stench of alcohol and it’s mainly plain _boring_. Matty expected it to be like this, loud and crowded and having everything that he enjoys in a good party but apparently it isn’t what he thought he needed.

Perhaps it’s to do with the fact that Matty is so used to every aspect of it nowadays that it now misses the thrill that once used to be present in every party Matty attended, because it only happened once or twice a month, and not literally every night all week. But right now, Allison’s friend’s house looked exactly like The Bull and every other club in town to him, without flashing lights and horny teenagers but not lacking the familiar scent of sweat and mixed perfumes and cheap vodka and cigarettes, and it’s making Matty slightly nauseous despite trying not to focus on it.

He’s currently leaning against the wall in a corner of the crowded living room regretting everything that is his life but most of all letting Ross drive him and not taking his own car, because he’s desperate to get out of here but Ross, as well as John and Hann are nowhere to be seen and he’d rather not walk home because perhaps getting lost at this time of night might be worse than tolerating this. So he waits, looking through the crowd for a familiar face so he can try his chances at begging for them to take him home, but he knows this isn’t very likely because he hasn’t seen any of them in about an hour, and he’s faintly aware of how standing alone in the corner doesn’t do much at making him invisible like he’d rather be, but instead draws more attention on him than he’s comfortable with right now.

There are equal numbers of boys and girls eying him up as they dance in the middle of the room but he doesn’t feed off of the attention like he usually would. Every time he makes eye contact with someone he makes sure to look as uninterested as possible and look away instantly, praying that no one would come over to chat him up.

He avoids the stare of yet another bloke and with a sigh he fishes his crashed cig pack from the back pocket of his jeans and lights one just for the sake of occupying himself with something until he finds a way to get out of here. It’s only a few minutes to midnight and there’s no way any of the lads would be eager to leave just yet anyway so he decides to give them thirty more minutes, or maybe forty just to better his chances, to do whatever it is they are doing while having abandoned him here on his own in a party where he hardly knows anyone.

Now Matty has always been great at parties; he loves the loud music and dancing, drinking, spotting fit people and chatting them up, which is something his decent social skills allow him to do with ease, and it is indeed rare of him to not enjoy a loud party like the one he finds himself in at the moment, or to not flirt in a room filled with so many attractive people. He knows he could have anybody he wanted if he decided to play his game right but he’s just not feeling it tonight.

He’s feeling off-kilter, like he’s somehow not aligned with himself tonight. Actually, he’s been feeling like this for some days now but he could easily ignore it, not letting it interfere with his life but right now the noise and the people seem to amplify the feeling by a tenfold; still not enough for him to not be able to function though. He notices that right now is one of those rare occasions when the feeling isn’t caused by piled up unattended thoughts but by lack of them whatsoever, and emptiness that is surprisingly not affecting his head but his chest. It feels like he misses something. He tries to decipher it but hardly comes to a conclusion. It might be his heart that’s missing is what he settles for, of lack of any better explanation or of a need to be poetic he doesn’t know, but he decides he has to use something along those lines in one of his poems.

Perhaps his missing his heart could be the reason he isn’t basking in all the attention that’s directed to him, or perhaps, he’s feeling so off because for once he isn’t the one to begin the flirting. Whether it has been out of choice or by some natural instinct, he has always been the one to initiate something with whoever he found the most attractive, or with whoever seemed to be the easiest to get. He realizes he has rarely ever been at the other end of it and wonders how it might feel not having the upper hand in this. He doesn’t realize though – or maybe he doesn’t really care much – that he’s about to find out as from the corner of his eye he sees a woman approaching.

“Hello.” Matty turns his head to acknowledge her and actually look at her. Despite her being blonde and his type he still can’t feel like indulging in whatever the woman has to offer despite being aware that he would have at any other time.

“Hi,” Matty says flatly, simply so he doesn’t appear rude, and hopes the woman will get bored soon and leave.

“Would you like some company? You seem lonely,” the woman offers and Matty takes a slow drag from his fag while thinking of a nice way to turn her down, but before he can come up with something the woman is speaking again. “I’m Emma.” She offers him a delicate hand to shake with a smile stretching her red lips and Matty drops any thoughts of being nice.

He completely ignores the hand that’s stretched towards him, and looks away, blowing smoke from the corner of his mouth.

“What’s your name then?”

“Matty,” he says curtly.

With a soft laugh she lowers her hand and rests it on her hip. “Do you need a drink, Matty?” she simpers, making Matty glare at her.

“I’m fine.” Matty must admit that she’s not as bad as he thought, in fact he kind of likes her attitude, and in any other case he would join in on her attempts to start something, or perhaps he would do so now as well, but he still doesn’t drop the annoyed expression from his face. “How about you go get one for yourself, yeah?”

Emma chuckles and takes a step closer, crowding in on Matty. “You should do something about that moodiness of yours. Even though I must admit it’s quite sexy.” Her tone is annoyingly cheeky and it ticks some nerves in Matty but before he even thinks to react she’s snatched the cigarette between his lips and thrown it on the floor, and she’s crashing her lips on his.

Matty lets out a surprised gasp, and briefly focuses on how the cigarette must have ruined the carpet before realizing what’s actually happening.

He must admit this isn’t bad at all. It’s been a while since he’s snogged a stranger on a night out. There’s something exciting about the kiss and the prospect of more following, and although his mind insists that he doesn’t want anything more, his body seems to have other plans. He supposes thinking about it at this point isn’t going to change anything, so he centers his attention on the kiss instead, and it’s not long before he loses himself in the way their tongues move together and in the taste and her breaths fanning over his cheek.

There’s a hand moving on his back and another one lightly tugging at his hair. It feels so good; he needs more of the closeness and he traces his hands over her back and he’s feeling alive. His fingers get tangled in soft, long hair and touch the soft skin of a delicate feminine neck, and like suddenly the spell is broken all nice things seem to drain from him and he’s feeling empty and missing that indefinable _something_ again.

He pulls away just as abruptly as the woman whose name he doesn’t remember anymore pulled him in and looks around the room frantically like he’s lost.

“What’s wrong?” she asks close to his ear so he can be heard over the noise. Matty’s eyes fall on her and she looks disappointed. Matty feels like he maybe should apologize but instead of doing so he shakes his head.

“I’ve got to go.” He mumbles and the blonde doesn’t hear him no doubt, but she seems to catch up pretty soon as he turns around to leave.

“Wait.” She stops him with a hand on his arm and as soon as Matty is half turned towards her she slips a piece of paper in his hand. “Call me.” Matty assumes it is her number and while he would rather do anything but call her, he still shoves the paper in his pocket as he pushes past people to get into the hallway to look for Hann or John assuming that Ross would be somewhere off with Alli.

He finds John in a room sitting with some people he doesn’t know but he guesses they must be friends of his. Matty stands awkwardly in the doorway not sure if he should interrupt him or just leave the party on his own like he already has half a mind to do, but some guy has noticed him and is telling John, who crosses the room to him in seconds as soon as he’s seen him.

“Something wrong?” he asks, looking at Matty from head to toe as if to find an answer to his question. Matty is a bit annoyed because he’s certain he doesn’t look so bad and John wouldn’t look so worried so he has no doubt that this is Ross’ deed, who has probably assigned John the task of babysitting him while he must be somewhere off fucking his girlfriend.

However, Matty doesn’t blame John, he tries to make his tone not sound as irritated as he is. “Nothing.” He shrugs. “Can we- I mean, I’m going home. You can stay if you want, I just-”

“It’s fine. I’m coming with you.” John offers him a smile and places a hand on his shoulder, squeezing reassuringly. “I’ll meet you outside in a minute, yeah?”

Matty nods and turns around, pushing past people to make it to the front door as fast as possible.

It’s more than a minute but John still doesn’t take long since Matty’s leaned against the wall of the building outside.

Matty offers him a smile when he sees him approaching, pushing himself off the wall and taking some steps towards him as well.

“Ready?” he asks smiling at Matty. “Let’s go.” He guides him towards the road where they stand waiting for a taxi.

Matty keeps his gaze forward but can see John giving him weird looks from the corner of his eye, obviously quite uncomfortable as he wants to maybe ask Matty if he’s alright but doesn’t utter a word, which Matty is thankful for, and soon hails a taxi that’s approaching them.

They remain quiet during the ride but Matty can tell John wants to say something – probably ask what’s wrong – because he can feel his eyes on him as he keeps his own eyes fixed on the blur of buildings zipping by. He doesn’t address it; John surely can wait till later to start this conversation.

Once the cab pulls up outside his apartment block Matty jumps out ready to pull some cash out of his pocket to pay the driver and bid John goodnight, but John’s already leant inside the window to pay.

“You coming up?” Matty asks once the cab’s driven away and apparently sounds put-off as John straightens up and shuffles awkwardly on his feet.

“If you want. I mean I can-”

“No no. It’s fine.” Matty offers him a smile he hopes looks genuine as he passes him by to enter the lobby. “Come on.”

“You alright?” John asks warily when they’re inside the lift and Matty insists on keeping quiet, which is so very unusual of him even when he’s tired or annoyed so John’s guess is there must be something else going on.

Matty nods. “Yeah.” He meets his gaze for a moment before he goes back to inspecting his nails again. “Fine.”

He rushes out of the lift the moment the doors open and hurries to his door to unlock it with John following behind him. He kicks his shoes off and throws his keys on the coffee table and his jacket on the couch as John walks awkwardly into the living room, feeling like maybe he shouldn’t be here but being reluctant to leave Matty alone.

Matty looks just as awkward, not knowing what to do with his hands as he stands in the doorway trying to look anywhere but John, or that’s what John thinks. “Do you want…um… tea? Or a drink or something?” Matty offers politely.

“Tea would be nice. If it’s not much trouble.” John takes a seat on the settee and leans forward with his elbows on his knees, as he rubs his hands together nervously.

“Yeah, sure. I’ll put the kettle on anyway.” Matty disappears into the kitchen, glad he can be alone for some minutes until the water’s boiled. His mind is still a mess and with the inevitability of a conversation with John about his mini breakdown his brain threatens to shut down any minute, so he needs to relax until he makes his way back to the living room. He’s feeling bad for wanting to avoid John but he can’t help but hope that John will soon decide to leave him alone but he is certain this isn’t going to happen until he’s made sure that Matty is at least stable enough to not breakdown again and, of course, until he’s gathered enough information about what happened back at the party to report back to Ross and that is making Matty nervous the most.

Meanwhile, John isn’t feeling any less nervous than Matty as he sits in his house trying to construct the best tactic to approach Matty. John hasn’t seen Matty much lately with traveling back and forth between London and Manchester, but Ross has told him enough about his state after George left and so, as his friend, he’s feeling responsible to make sure Matty is at least safe. However, he knows how Matty can be when he doesn’t want to talk about something, and he’s afraid that he will push him without realizing and he’ll withdraw into himself.

That time back then when Matty had started being very closed off of everyone even with George there, and a few months later when the bomb dropped that Matty was using, John was already on a plane every other day to attend sax seminars up north, so he wasn’t in the face of it all but he wasn’t excluded of it either. Even after being friends with Matty for eight years he still learnt a lot about the man during that time, even from a distance. Now with that knowledge he thinks he can handle Matty and he knows what to say to coax him to speak about things, about his feelings, but that is only in theory, and so he has to test that theory to find out if he’s right or if he’s about to fuck this up.

The sound of Matty’s footsteps approaching snaps John out of his thoughts and he looks up to see Matty entering and coming to sit next to him, but with calculated distance between them before he hands him his cup of tea.

“Ta.” Matty nods and silently takes a careful sip of the hot liquid, then watches the steam dissipating as it goes a little above the surface and seems to devote all his attention to the swirls, completely ignoring John.

John wonders whether this is the right time to ask about Matty’s mental state, but he guesses it must be otherwise he has no reason to be hanging around here, considering that he’s doing not much else and Matty doesn’t seem particularly excited for the company he’s offering – or rather forcing on him. So, he takes a breath in to calm his own nerves and asks: “Matty, are you sure you’re alright?”

Matty’s eyes shoot up to look at John, wide and surprised, and even though both him and John know the truth, his expression is one that indicates that the notion of him being anything but _alright_ is completely ridiculous, as does his tone of voice when he speaks. “Of course. I told you before didn’t I?” he goes to take a sip from his drink but turns back to John before he’s made it. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

John sighs, feeling like he’s dangerously close to crossing the line that would make Matty shut off but having started this he’s not going to back out now. “You know why I’m asking.” Matty shoots him the same what-the-fuck-are-you-on-about look, making him let out a sigh again. “You looked like you saw a ghost when you came looking for me back there.”

Matty seems persistent on wearing that look until it drives John crazy, but, quite surprisingly, he drops it under John’s stare, and looks away, letting out a sigh himself. “Look, John- It’s fine. Alright?”

“I’m trying to help, Matty.” John tries to be gentle because maybe he’s crossed some boundaries now, and if he has a chance to make it good again he’s going to grab it.

“Ross has you in charge of babysitting me tonight – I get it.” Matty rolls his eyes.

“I’m not here to babysit you.” John shakes his head like that’s such a ridiculous notion – how could Matty believe such a thing? – even though it’s partly true. “I really care, okay?” He sets his cup on the coffee table and takes the liberty to slip his arm around Matty’s shoulders. “We all do.”

Matty rolls his eyes again but doesn’t attempt to move away and doesn’t speak.

“We are just worried, that’s all. That’s why we think that maybe talking about things might be good.” John tries to coax something out of Matty but his sentence sounds like a question more than it does determined like he was planning. “For you,” he adds hurriedly hoping to sound convincing. Not that what he is saying isn’t truthful but John can’t help but imagine that Matty is going to misinterpret his intentions.

“Does it matter what _I_ think?”

“Of course.” John hurries to nod enthusiastically thinking he might be going somewhere with this.

“What if I don’t want to talk about it then?” Matty looks at John in the eye making a shiver run down his spine at the intensity of his stare and move back a bit.

“I-I just- I’m here if you want to is what I’m trying to say.”

Matty doesn’t move at all. He remains silent for the next couple minutes and John’s lost all hope that he will talk about anything right now; hell, he’s almost certain that Matty might not even want to talk to him for a while after this because Matty can be extra like that but he’s glad to soon find out that he is wrong.

“Everything’s shit right now, you know?” Matty blurts out. “What will talking about things do?”

“It will take things off your chest, I guess.”

Matty shakes his head, his eyes fixed on a point on the carpet in front of him, unmoving. “Doesn’t matter,” he says quietly; his voice is thick like he is holding back tears and it makes John feel slightly uncomfortable, not because he’s uncomfortable with Matty letting out his emotions but because he isn’t quite sure what to do to comfort him.

“But it does. Might make you see things… more clearly.” John offers and Matty shakes his head again.

“I’ve just fucked up so much.”

“You haven’t. That’s not-”

“My best mate won’t fucking talk to me.” His voice gets louder and cracks in the middle of his sentence. He turns his head towards John but he doesn’t look at him as his eyes start welling up.

It doesn’t take long until he’s full on crying with his head in his jumper covered hands, his shoulders shaking with the force of each sob that bubbles up from his chest, and Matty thinks he might die right there and then as it becomes gradually harder to breathe with the weight that’s pushing down on his chest. He takes his hands away from his face in an attempt to help his lungs suck up more air and pants for some seconds before he’s back to ugly sobs. Matty’s almost oblivious to his surroundings until John wraps his arm around him to pull him closer and allow him to cry into his chest, and that seems to ground him a bit. And even though he initially feels kind of trapped he soon finds that John holding him helps calm him down a bit until there are only sporadic tears falling from his eyes onto John shirt and no ugly sounds coming out from his mouth anymore.

He sniffs and pulls away from John’s embrace, sitting up straighter and squaring up his shoulders, as he quickly wipes any remnants of his crying off his slightly blotchy face with his sleeve. “Don’t tell the others about this, please.” Matty knows it’s pointless because John will do just that anyway but he can’t resist attempting to keep what’s left of his dignity.

“’Course. Don’t worry.” John is rubbing circles on his back as Matty leans on his knees with his hands clasped together between them and closes his eyes appreciatively for a second. “You feeling any better?” John asks, tilting his head to look at Matty.

Matty nods and opens his eyes to look at John and offer him a smile. “Thank you.”

“I…” John rubs his hands together nervously, thinking about what would be appropriate to say right now. “If you- If you need any help I’m here, okay?”

Matty smiles softly at him and rubs his back fondly. “Okay.”

 

~*~

 

“Hi, mum.”

“Matthew,” her familiar voice says through the speaker, sounding a little bit surprised, but it brings some kind of warmth that he hasn’t felt in a while. “I didn’t expect you to be calling this late.”

“Sorry,” Matty apologizes quietly, “Were you asleep?”

“No, no,” she hurries to say, “No, it’s just you haven’t called in a while. But you didn’t wake me, I was just relaxing, watching the telly before going to sleep,” she tells him cheerily and Matty smiles a little, imagining her in her night gown, sitting up under the covers in an attempt to become more alert. “How are you, Matthew?”

“I’m good, mum. How are you?”

“Good, good. I did an interview this morning, really, really early, and I’m a little bit tired, as you can imagine.”

Matty hums, biting the side of his thumb. “Do you want to hang up?”

“No, sweetheart, it’s alright. Did you want something? Is everything alright there?”

Matty nods even though she can’t see him. It’s late but he can’t get what John said last night out of his mind. Maybe he should talk to someone, maybe it will help. Matty doesn’t think so but he’s now following John’s advice, or at least that was the plan, but telling her is harder than he thought.

“Yes, mum, just wanted to hear you. We haven’t talked in a while.”

“Oh, darling, that’s so sweet of you. I was going to call but I thought you might be busy. How is George?”

Matty’s stomach twists a little at the mention of his name. He closes his eyes for a moment. “He’s fine.”

“Is he there? Tell him I said ‘hi’,” she says, oblivious to the whole debacle.

Matty sighs. “He’s not here.”

“When he comes back then? Has he gone out? Left you on your own?” she jokes but it hurts more than she’d ever imagine.

Matty takes a breath in, his lungs burning, as he rubs a hand over his face. “No, mum. He’s…” he sighs, “He’s not coming back,” he says quietly, sounding almost removed from the situation.

“What happened? Is he alright, Matthew?” She sounds alert now, almost panicked.

“Yeah, he’s alright. He’s just,” he shrugs, pouting, like he doesn’t care, “moved out.”

There’s silence on the other side of the line, and Matty’s hairs stand on end, he’s feeling cold.

“What happened, Matthew?” comes his mum’s voice, concerned but stern, and so motherly.

“Nothing really, it’s-”

“Something must have happened. You and George are inseparable, George would never leave without you.”

Matty laughs a little at how genuinely upset she sounds through her last comment. “We aren’t married, mum.”

“Your dad and I were married and we couldn’t stand each other. You and George are special.”

Matty’s smile falls altogether and it physically hurts. “Not so special after all.”

“Tell me what happened, love.”

“We just had a fight.”

“That’s it? Just a fight? What did you fight over that made him move out?”

Matty puffs his cheeks and huffs, rubbing his eye with the heel of his hand. “I did something…that upset him. We said a lot. _I_ said a lot that I shouldn’t have.”

“That’s not a reason to not talk to each other. You and George are like brothers.” _Brothers._

“I really fucked it up this time, mum. He’s right to be mad at me. I just,” he sighs, reaching to grab his packet from the coffee table to light a fag. “I don’t know if I can function without him.”

“You should tell him that’s how you feel,” she advices, voice calm.

Matty shakes his head. “He won’t talk to me.”

“You have to talk to him then.”

“He won’t listen. I really fucked it all up big time this time.”

“George loves you very much, sweetheart. I’m sure he’ll listen to you when the time’s right, so don’t worry about it. Give it a little bit of time, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *TW*
> 
> Mentions of drugs and drug use  
> Alcohol use


	6. Get Down on Your Knees Again

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey!  
> Sorry I've been absent for so long. I've been out of town, out of country, and I barely had time to work on this. And now I did because 1.I missed it a lot, and 2. I have to work on my final projects for school so naturally I have to procrastinate.  
> Either way, enjoy! 
> 
> Check the notes at the end for possible triggers in the following chapter. Read safe.
> 
> xxx
> 
>  

Matty spends all his day on Tuesday lying about in his flat in his pyjamas with a spliff or a fag constantly hanging from his lips. He’s bored. His job, repetitive and dull, has started getting a toll on him. It’s not that the business has changed at all, it’s just that Matty’s completely out of the loop with it all, and as exciting and new as it was when he first started again he’s now feeling tired, worn out. He considers a change in routine, then decides he’s too comfortable under his duvet to do anything about it today. But then he runs out if weed, and as much as he hates having to get up, he knows he’s going to regret it in the morning if he doesn’t restock tonight.

He texts his dealer, then goes out to meet him before going to the club. He decides not to take his car this time, maybe this little change in his day is all he needs, but well, he comes to regret it half an hour in, because it turns out the club is too far to walk and his legs are throbbing when he finally makes it. However, he arrives even a little early and goes about his usual task for the night with the hope to finish a little earlier than usual as well.

He is done at a quarter to two, and is delighted to be able to get out of there before three. Still feeling a little bit bored with everything lately, he decides to keep going instead of calling it a night yet. Lighting a fag he heads towards the direction some of his favourite bars are located, and if he gets lost a few times it is only a great opportunity to breathe in some fresh air before he locks himself in some stuffy pub for the rest of the night.

The streets are mostly empty and it’s terribly quiet. Matty drags his feet to a 24/7 store to grab himself a cigarette packet before he continues his search of an overnight shelter with low prices and half-decent drinks. He’s got one specific bar in mind he’d like to go to, hasn’t been there in ages, however, it isn’t hard for him to change his mind when the flickering glow of an overhead neon sign catches his attention.

Ragdoll; he’s heard of this name in conversations with friends and acquaintances quite recently. He’s been here a couple times in the past, but that was when he had just moved in the city. It was a good time, he can recall. Even though he had described the club as sketchy, and although it certainly has changed after so many years, he knows there’s girls and alcohol in there so he heads towards the door in curiosity.

The place is loud and dark, and gives the impression that everything’s covered in a thin layer of dust. He can almost smell it, mixed with the distinct smell of glycerin from the fog machines on the stage. It’s colourful in the cheapest way, very different than he remembers it. It’s pleasantly filled with people and scantily dressed girls so he decides to stay. He gets himself a drink from the bar and settles at a table.

The crowd consists mostly of middle aged men, and the occasional group of giddy teenage boys stepping foot in a strip club for the first time. Most men look sleazy and drunk, touching the girls in a way that could make Matty feel uncomfortable if he looked on for longer. He takes a sip of his tequila and his face scrunches up at the burn down his throat. The quality is worse than what even he usually drinks but he gulps down some more, accepting the fact that he’s going to be hangover in the morning.

He polishes his glass and orders another, watching a topless girl walk up to the stage and twirl around the pole at the centre of it. He lights a fag. He is mildly bored and feeling slightly out of place. He doesn’t have much money for many more drinks, or girls, not to mention that this isn’t his scene at all. Back when he was nineteen, horny and high all the time, he used to love this kind of place, loved having girls rub against him, loved the chase and the prize of sex for his victory. Right now, he’s mostly moping about and tired all the time. He sighs and he decides to finish this one and head home.

Out of the corner of his eye he notices a girl approaching. Her silver bikini top and shimmering shorts make Matty dizzy in the flickering lights as she walks up to him, her hips swaying, her smile bright. Matty looks on disinterestedly, and a little bit miffed, hoping she’ll get the hint before she begins her routine. Perhaps he is just in a foul mood but he finds her outfit distasteful in the least, too shiny, too cheap, and the thought of having to interact with her draining. He will pass up, he thinks, but the girl leans over him and straddles his hip gracefully without him managing to get in a single word and Matty scoffs, more annoyed with himself than her, knowing that this could definitely get him off any other time, but not now.

The girl braces one hand on his shoulder, the other wrapping around his neck, her fingers running through his hair. Matty brings one hand to lightly rest on her hip in an attempt to get into this as she sways close to him in the beat of the music. Her sweet perfume fills Matty’s nostrils as she throws her hair over her shoulder and leans in to speak into his ear.

“Hello, Matty.” Her voice makes him shudder slightly, before her words register. He tenses up and pulls back to look at her, eyebrows furrowed. Her smile doesn’t falter in the least even while Matty’s frown deepens. “You really don’t remember me?” she asks playfully, confident smile still in place, and Matty has to read her lips to catch it because her voice isn’t loud enough to be heard over the noise.

His eyes scan over her features, his slow brain struggling to link a memory to the pretty face but he draws a blank. And then it comes all at once and all too suddenly, a year’s worth of shared memories rushing back in an instant, making his heart skip a bit, then settle heavy in his stomach.

“ _Fuck me_ ,” he exclaims, a smile spreading wide across his face, “Fucking hell, you’re Gemma!”

Her eyes light up and Matty draws her in for a tight embrace, his heart beating fast with surprise and such abrupt happiness in the presence of this girl.

A bouncer tries to pull her away from him and Matty instinctively holds her tighter against him until she pulls away to reassure the bigger man that she’s safe and usher him away. Her face returns to Matty’s and her smile comes back in an instant.

She begins swaying and grinding up against him once again and Matty laughs a little because this is so surreal. “For old time’s sake,” Gemma tells him and Matty’s heart swells inside his chest as he lets his hand run up her back and run through her blonde hair. The bouncer stands in the corner ready to jump him if Gem looks even slightly uncomfortable but Matty is confident that she won’t, her body coming closer to his the more he lets his hands on her.

He shakes his head at her, eyes drooping with exhaustion but full of wonder. His moodiness is replaced with something akin to giddiness. He’s missed her very much, of course he has, he hasn’t seen her since he moved out of Manchester and he is desperate to spend more time with her, alone. “What time are you getting off?”

Gemma smiles brightly and leans in, pressing a kiss to his lips, and one to his cheek as she moves her lips to his ear again. “Will you wait for me?”

Matty smiles up at her, his hand cupping her cheek, thumb rubbing over his cheekbone, and he nods. He pushes his hand into his back pocket for his wallet but she stops him with a shake of her head. Matty rolls his eyes and grasps her wrist when she starts moving away. He pushes her hand in the inner pocket of his leather jacket, letting her feel the baggie Tony’s gifted him, promising to pay her off some way, before he pulls her hand away with a smirk. Gemma returns it and gets off his lap, strutting away on her heels with one more look back at him over her shoulder.

 

Gem comes back to him a bit less than two hours later, the club almost empty and looking like chaos. Matty hooks an arm around her waist, hails a cab and takes her home.

The ride back turns into a vague catch up session and timid kisses, both giggly and delighted in each other’s company, until Matty’s got the door to his flat unlocked.

Matty kicks it closed and pushes her against it, pressing his mouth to hers, all pent up frustration and feelings towards her let out through their one point of connection. Her hands fist in his hair while Matty’s hands slip under her top, making her gasp and Matty pushes his tongue past her lips. Gem pushes a hand inside his shirt as Matty attaches his lips to her neck, making her moan quietly.

“Fuck, Gem,” he breathes, his hands going up to briefly cup her breasts. “C’mon,” he says firmly and pulls away, taking her hand in his and guiding her to the bedroom.

“Do you have coke?” she asks shyly. Matty shoots her a look before he nods. He sits down and takes the baggie out of his pocket.

He watches her as she takes a mirror out of her purse, cutting thin lines with a razor, then leaning over and snorting them. Matty’s mouth goes dry, and he takes his eyes away, standing up and walking around the bed to haul her up to her feet, take a fistful of her hair and pull her to his mouth.

Matty hurriedly pulls her coat and top off in a desperate attempt to ignore his lips numbing from the powder clinging to her upper lip. He throws her clothes to the floor and pushes her to lie down on the bed, taking his shirt off in the process, and trying to focus on her breasts instead of on his heart thudding in his chest with longing that’s not for her.

Her hands caress up his chest, over his arms and back down to undo his jeans and push them down his hips as much as she can. He stifles a sigh, setting to lose himself in her skin, in his memories, and forget about this ache inside him.

He leans down, continuing to kiss down the column of her neck to her chest. He reaches around to the clasp of her bra and pulls it off, letting her breasts bounce free in his face as he bends down to suck on her nipples, while his hands work to pull the jeans that she’s change into down her legs.

He sits back on his heels and pulls them off completely, standing to shed his own too. He comes back to hover above her and kiss her as his hand finds its way to the front of her underwear. He kisses his way back down to between her legs, his hands gripping her thighs as he licks and bites at the soft skin there. His grip tightens when she starts squirming underneath him and after marking her pale skin one more time he moves his mouth where she needs him most.

He licks at her over the lace of her knickers, feeling her wetness on his tongue where it has soaked through the flimsy fabric, and she keens above him, sending a wave of arousal to his cock. His thumb rubs lightly against her clit as he kisses wetly where her hip meets her thigh and her hips buck up into his touch.

“Matty,” she whines, “Please.”

Matty smiles to himself and finally pulls her knickers off, sitting back and admiring her for a bit, how much she’s changed, how bloody gorgeous she looks. She gazes up at him, eyes dark and glazed, lips parted and Matty moans at the sight. “Fuck, Gem, you’re so hot.”

He drops back down between her legs and licks widely at her, tasting her, pushing his tongue inside her, and her hands come to fist in his hair. Her skins smells like a mixture of her flowery perfume and body lotion that smells like some sort of sugary dessert, which is generic enough to not have formed a link in Matty’s mind that that was Gemma back there in the club, but right now apart from the sweet scent of whatever she’s rubbed on her skin in the evening to smell good, there’s that scent that is so undeniably familiar, so strongly Gemma that there’s no doubt that this is her underneath him; his Gemma.

He flicks his tongue against her clit until her thighs start shaking, then pushes his tongue inside her and she tightens her hold in his hair, tugging lightly, and Matty moans against her. He pushes a finger in, crooks it and rubs it against that spot inside her that makes her sweat and squirm, making her gasp wetly and her spine to arch off the bed. He raises his head to look at her, at her hooded eyes gazing down at him, her mouth open and her lips wet, adding a second finger and working them inside her with his thumb on her clit. He smirks, dark look in his eyes that makes her shudder.

“Are you going to cum for me, baby?” he asks, his voice low and Gem flushes. She nods and Matty speeds up his movements, bringing his mouth down to her inner thighs again, until Gem moans and gasps above him and her muscles vibrate under his tongue.

He fingers her through her orgasm and sits up, removing his digits from inside her and putting them in his mouth to suck her wetness off. Her eyes darken and flutter shut as she winds a hand to the back of his neck and pulls him down to her mouth. He licks at her mouth for a while until he can’t taste much of her anymore and then moves to her neck, leaving a mark just under her jaw. He squeezes her breast firmly, while his free hand skims down to push a finger inside her again, making her jerk against him and moan. Matty laughs against the skin of her neck. “Not much has changed, eh, love?”

Gemma hums, high pitched and tries to pull his face to hers so she can kiss him. “Matty-”

Matty wraps one arm around her waist and pulls her upright, grabbing a fistful of her hair and kissing her firmly, before pushing her head down. She wraps her fist around him and obediently sucks him into her mouth, sinking as far down as she can while he guides her head up and down his length. “You’re still so good at this,” Matty praises above her and she hums around him, sending vibrations to the head of his cock making him bite his lip to hold back a moan.

He pulls her off before she manages to set into a proper rhythm, and spins her around, her wrists tightly held behind her back with one fist around them, his free hand fisting in her hair and pulling her head back as he pushes into her and she cries out. Matty hums lowly in her ear as he thrust into her fast, nuzzling in her hair. “You’re so wet, feel so good.” Gem moans in response, throwing her head back, and tries to crane her neck and entice him to kiss her. He bites her shoulder instead and pushes her forward to fall on her chest before he flips her around.

Matty takes a firm hold of her hips and pushes back in, her fingers clawing at the bed sheets as he thrusts into her slow but hard, wanting her to feel it, really feel it, like he knows she likes. He leans forward over her, elbows resting on either side of her head and not losing his rhythm at all, going hard, chasing his orgasm. He looks her straight in the eye, his stare intense, and he can feel her clench around him. “You going to cum again?” he says as he slips a hand between their bodies to rub at her clit.

“Ah, Matty, _fuck_ , _ah_ ,” she cries and cums, her pussy spazzing around him, and he holds back long enough for her to stop clenching erratically around his cock before he thrust a few more times and pulls out to cum on her stomach.

He manages to not collapse on her, rolls a bit to the side and drops there, panting as warmth spreads through him, and his heartbeat slowly comes back to normal. He grabs a couple tissues from George’s nightstand and carelessly cleans her up, throwing the soiled paper on the floor. They move under the duvet and he pulls her closer, nuzzling in her hair, letting the sweet girl smell and that familiar scent fill his senses, make his chest feel a little bit lighter. For the first night in a while he doesn’t feel so alone when he starts drifting off to sleep.

 

Matty wakes up quite early for the time he managed to sleep the night before. Gem is still asleep, cheek pressed to his shoulder, arm thrown over his chest, leg draped over his hips. He turns his face and buries his nose in her hair, breathing in for a few moments before he gently untangles himself from her and gets up. He pulls on some unwashed trackies that lie on his bedroom floor that must have been George’s at some point before he left, and goes out into the kitchen to make coffee. In the process he decides it might be a good idea to make toast and so he does as he lights a fag and waits for it to be ready.

When he returns to the bedroom Gemma is awake, sat upright, back against the headboard and duvet pooling around her hips as she leans over to get his packet from the nightstand. She offers him a wide smile when she notices him coming in and takes out a second cigarette for him, putting it between his lips as she lights her own. Matty places the plate with their toast on the bed next to her and passes her a mug of steaming coffee.

Gem takes a sip as Matty takes back his lighter to light his fag. Gem hums, “How’d you know how I like my coffee?”

Matty shrugs and takes a drag. “I didn’t.”

Gem smiles at him and shuffles a little closer. Matty drapes an arm over her shoulders. “Thanks.”

“Did I make you miss some tips last night?”

Gemma laughs, “It’s fine, I wasn’t in the mood to fuck anyone anyway,” she tells him, then looks at him with a smile playing behind her eyes, “Then I noticed you there, and well, it’s not just fucking with you.”

Matty allows a grin to stretch his lips, running a single finger down her cheek. “Do you do that often?”

She shakes her head. “Only when I want to, or really really have to.” She takes a sip of her coffee and offers him a smile.

Matty nods slowly. “How did you end up in London?”

She gives a little shrug and takes a small sip of her coffee before she speaks. “I ran away basically. I dropped out of college on my last year, packed up my stuff one night and took the train to London.”

“Why did you run away?”

Gem sighs and drops her gaze to her hands in her lap. “You know how things were with my parents. I had to get away.”

Matty shakes his head and detaches himself from her, turning his torso a little so he’s facing her. “Your brother-”

“My brother killed himself a few months after you left,” she says casually, taking a drag from her fag and leaning over to pick the ashtray from the nightstand and balance it on her thigh. 

“Oh, baby,” Matty says softly and pulls her close again, planting a lingering kiss to her forehead. “I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be, it’s alright.”

He pulls back a little again to look at her, a hand still petting her hair. “You knew I was here. Why didn’t you get in contact? You could have rung me up, I could have helped.”

“Oh, come on, Matty,” she laughs a little, “You know you couldn’t have. You weren’t exactly in a better place than I was. And, anyway, I wanted to start fresh, get away from everything and everyone that connected me with that part of my life. And it really turned out fine, obviously.”

“Obviously,” Matty repeats, smiling and shaking his head to himself as he watches her, filling with pride seeing how strong his girl has become. And really, she always had been, ever since he had met her in Manchester, still in school and struggling with everything but always finding a way to live through that. However, that fifteen-year-old girl, who had cried him a river when he broke her the news that he was leaving, getting out of there without her, could have never said a big fuck-you to everyone and started new, but that was last time he saw her. “You’re looking good, Gem.”

“Thanks, Matty,” she giggles, then her smile falls, her eyes taking up that sad look that used to get her anything she wanted from him. “Can’t say the same about you though.”

Matty sighs. He reaches out and brushes a strand of messy blonde hair away from her face, tucking it gently behind her ear, offering her a smile that strangely feels very genuine. “I’ve missed you, kid.”

Gem blows air through her nose in a sigh and leans up to brush her lips against his. “I’ve missed you too, Matty,” she tells him softly, keeping her eyes shut as he leans in to kiss her properly.

She places a warm palm on his cheek, kissing him once before pulling away enough to speak. “What’s going on with you?”

Matty shakes his head. “All’s fine,” he murmurs against her lips and kisses her again, only for her to pull away again, this time looking up at him.

“You don’t look like all is fine.”

Matty laughs a little, expecting Gem to push this. He lets go of her and lights another fag. “How did you find yourself in Ragdoll then?”

“That’s what I should be asking you,” Gem laughs, giving up for the time being.

“Was just passing by,” Matty says, waving his cig around. “What about you?”

“When I came here, I had to somehow make a living,” she tells him, stealing his cigarette to take a drag before giving it back. “I-I got into hard drugs right after my brother was gone, and apart from working to pay rent and eat, I had to find the money for that too,” she keeps going, voice quiet, arms wrapped around herself and eyes looking anywhere but at Matty’s. “I got involved with the wrong people, or the right people at the time, depends on how you want to look at it I guess. They would get me coke for free for a while, then a friend pulled some strings and had me working at bar. It didn’t pay enough, and the boss was…” she shakes her head and purses her lips. “I wanted to get out of there as soon as possible and had a friend of mine talk to the guy who owned Gaslight at the time and they took me in a year ago.”

Matty nods, eyebrows drawn together in sympathy. He doesn’t know what she’s gone through, maybe has a vague idea after what he’s just heard but that’s about it. He doesn’t know if he wants to hear more, even if he did what difference would it make?

“Is it alright now?” is what he says if just to feel better with himself.

Gemma shrugs one shoulder. “It could be worse. It’s not the best job in the world as you can imagine, but it’s something. And I can get high for free now so what more could I ask for?” she tells him with a wink and shoots him a smile, all white teeth, that doesn’t fool either of them.

Matty kisses her temple softly. “Where are you staying now?”

“I’ve got a flat with a girl from the club,” Gemma informs him brightly, “It’s nothing special but it feels like home you know.”

Matty nods. “You’ve changed a lot, Gem. I’m proud of you.”

She smiles sweetly up at him, “You have too. It’s a good change. I love your hair like this,” she tells him, reaching up to run her fingers through the knots. She hands him her half empty mug to set on the nightstand. Matty crams the plate with their toast and the ashtray next to it. Gem’s fingers skim down to the centre of his chest, touching lightly over the lines of his tattoo. “You got some new ones,” she observes, her eyes scanning the ink on his skin intently. “Who’s Annie?”

“My Nana,” he tells her quietly, his fingers following the lines along with hers. Her eyes look up at his face, flicking between his own. “She passed away, um…’bout three years ago.”

Her palm lies flat over his heart. “I’m sorry, Matty.” Matty shrugs weakly, offering a thin smile. She looks back down, and pushes his trackies a little further down his hips, touching the edges of his tattoo on his left one. “This one’s still my favourite.”

Matty laughs. “I remember how much you loved it when I first got it.”

“I still love it. It must be the placement.”

“’Course it is,” he chuckles, draping an arm over her shoulders.

“Where is George?” she asks suddenly, and Matty tenses up, feels his stomach clench.

“He lives with Ross now,” he says, swallowing hard.

“Did he use to stay with you before?” Matty nods, really wishing she’s stopped asking more question before he has to stop her himself. “Why doesn’t he still?”

“Needed a change, I s’pose,” he lies, not ever in the mood to talk about this again, especially not now that he’s having such a good time.

“Did you have a fallout of something?”

Matty turns to face her, his expression one of slight amusement and concealed annoyance, the muscles in his jaw working as he clenches his teeth. “You’re asking too many questions, don’t you think.”

Gem drops her head and shrugs. “Sorry, I just figured this might be the reason you’re looking so off-kilter. You always looked happier when he was around.”

“Hey,” he says, drawing her in to wrap an arm around her again and cup her cheek, carefully holding his cigarette away from her face, “everything’s fine, you don’t have to worry your pretty little head about me,” he reassures her and emphasizes with a deep kiss, “Okay?”

Gem nods and reaches up to tangle her finger in his hair and kiss him, and that’s enough for Matty. He reaches behind blindly to stub his cigarette out, tired of talking and figuring he’s to take advantage of the fact that she’s still naked in his bed.

 

She gets ready to leave late in the afternoon and Matty is mostly relieved but there’s also that undeniable feeling of loss blooming in his chest again that he tries to suppress. He slips a baggie into the pocket of her coat before she leaves. She turns around and wraps her arms around his neck. Matty kisses her and tries to memorize the taste of her mouth, the feel of her lips against his, because a part of him thinks being in her life again is a pretty bad idea and he doesn’t know when he’s going to see her again. That doesn’t stop him from _wanting_ to see her again.

“You can stay here for a while if you want, might be easier with rent and everything,” he suggests. It feels wrong but then again, he reasons, he’s got enough space for another person, and Gem’s company would be very welcome.

Gem shakes her head. “There’s no need, love. I should get back anyway, change out of these,” she says, gesturing to the clothes she’s been wearing since last night. “Chels’s probably worried by now.” Matty nods and shrugs, pretends he’s not disappointed at being rejected by her. “Maybe you should pop by the club to meet her some day,” she offers, hope obvious in her voice. Matty nods again because perhaps this is a bad idea, but he would love to, and even if he doesn’t go back he’d hate for this look to disappear from her eyes.

She presses a soft kiss to his cheek and pulls back to look him in the eyes for a moment before she turns around and heads for the lift. Matty watches her and isn’t sure if he is going to be able to stay away.

 

~*~

 

It's been a week since the party, four days since he met Gem. His time with her he loved, the party he hated, and all he wanted was to curl up in bed and be alone. However, tonight his mood has shifted a hundred and eighty degrees and right now Matty thinks back to that party with some nostalgia. It isn't that it was _good_ ; Matty remembers it being boring, with too many people and too loud music and everything he came to despise in the very long month that he's been working in and out of clubs. It had people however, and perhaps Matty's got so used to them being such an integral part of his daily life that he finds himself missing the familiarity of being around living beings tonight as he sits on his sofa mindlessly flipping through channels with nothing to do.

Apart from some short visits from Ross, and some calls from the others – except for George of course – he hasn't seen any familiar faces in a week; not ones that he'd like to see that is. Not that he's been very fond of seeing Ross and talking to the others on the phone so much but it's better than nothing anyway.

Matty can't really understand how he can be so negatively affected by people on weekdays but then the weekend rolls around and his whole being is asking for them; like he's so overwhelmed, so overstimulated, like people suck up his energy, leaving him walk around like a living corpse but right now, on his only day off, he is feeling so bored, so understimulated sitting alone in his flat with no plans for the night, so lonely his mind is clouded over and his heart heavy with the weight of silence.

He’s craving human contact even though it hasn’t been many hours since he last had it in overwhelming amounts. He considers calling someone just to make small talk so he can feel less lonely but he’s certain that Ross would be knocking on his door half an hour later to check up on him – because now apparently it is unusual of Matty to initiate anything unless he’s fucking lost it completely – and the next best option would be calling any of the contacts on his phone but then he wouldn’t have any good enough excuse of why he’s calling at eight in the evening just to talk about the weather or whatever.

With a heavy sigh he hauls himself up from the sofa and pads into the kitchen to help himself to a bottle of red wine of his recently restocked supply. Uncorking the bottle and taking a swig of it he makes his way back to his spot on the settee, picking his phone up from next to him and checking his notifications, desperate for something interesting going on on Twitter or an unread text from someone who would like a chat, or even meeting up at this point, but there’s nothing but some friend requests on Facebook that he ignores.

He locks his phone and throws it back on the sofa, leaning further into the cushions and propping his legs up on the coffee table. He takes a sip of his wine, savoring the taste, even though it’s not the best he’s had, probably among the worst actually, and considers his options for the night which are either staying in and wallowing in self-pity as per usual or actually mustering up the courage to go out for yet another night, perhaps pop by Ragdoll, but that might be just a little bit worse than the former. There’s still the option of ringing Ross or Hann or John, and possibly inviting them over but honestly Matty’s rather not do that right now, not really in the mood for another pep talk in the span of a week and pity smiles and wary laughter. So he dismisses that completely, deciding that stalling is his best option for the time being and takes another large swig straight from the bottle.

Roughly an hour later Matty chugs down the last of his wine and frowns at the telly. He is tipping on the line to being drunk and he’s a bit bummed out to find that the wine did little to calm his agitation and sooth his inexplicable boredom and much less to chase away the feeling of loneliness that’s settling deeper in his chest with every minute that passes. On top of all the alcohol has made him just a bit more emotional than he usually is, and that’s to say a lot; he’s feeling a slight lump rising in his throat and his eyes burning with the unmistakable feeling of tears forming and he presses the heels of his palms there to suppress them as he throws his head back against the back of the sofa.

The telly is on mute which means that Matty’s thoughts are free to run wild without distractions and right now they remind him how painfully lonely he is in his painfully empty flat. He hates these thoughts; they do him more harm than anyone could ever but he can’t stop them when they start blooming in his mind, especially with the alcohol in his system.

He needs distractions, he always has, whether that be music, his poetry, people, alcohol or drugs he’s always had them in his life, the best of which more often than not happened to be George. George who is not here now and Matty could do whatever he bloody wanted without him stopping him, the devil on his side reminds him and there’s no doubt what it’s hinting to.

Matty would only have to walk to the bathroom, reach behind the sink and then to the back of the shelves behind the mirror for his old razor. It would only take some minutes and then Matty could relax. And it would do no harm, would it? Just once. Just a couple lines.

Matty scrunches up his face and rubs a hand over it, mentally beating himself for even considering this, completely failing to think about the reason he is yet to throw it away. The thought of it is rooted in his mind though – side effect of his loneliness, he decides – and he has to shift his focus on something else quickly.

His mind of course takes a sharp turn to Gemma, then abruptly to the subject of George, leaving Matty slightly dizzy and confused and sad with a familiar feeling of longing.

He eyes up his phone two feet away from him; Gemma’s at work and he promised to himself he would bother her for as long as he can manage it, but if he calls George, then he’s drunk enough to blame it on that if he has to protect the last of his dignity that’s left. With a surge of confidence he grabs the device and speed dials George’s number before he has the time to second-guess himself.

The dial tones go off and his stomach is in knots; what will he say when George answers? _If_ George answers.

Seconds later it goes to voicemail and Matty’s too desperate to hear George’s voice to bother leaving him a voicemail that he probably won’t even hear. So he calls him again, and again, until the third time George answers.

“Hello?”

Matty’s heart almost leaps out of his chest at the sound of his voice, and his breath catches in his throat; he doesn’t know what to say – what did he even call him for? He doesn’t remember, but he finds that in this particular moment he doesn’t care.

He can hear the man’s rugged breaths through the phone as George waits for an answer. “Hello?” he repeats and Matty doesn’t miss how gruff his voice sounds. There’s rustling on the other end and a feminine voice asking him who it is, and then it clicks in Matty’s head that George is in bed with some girl and his stomach drops. There’s guilt for a second that he’s interrupted but that fades away quickly to be replaced by a feeling in his gut that is hard to decide whether it is jealousy or arousal.

“Matty?” comes George’s voice again and Matty’s stomach does a back flip at the sound of his name. There’s more rustling and Matty thinks he’s stayed quiet for long enough that George will probably think he called him by accident and hang up.

“Hi,” he chokes out as he reaches up to twirl a strand of hair nervously around his finger.

“Hi,” George says back, sounding surprised in the least that Matty ringed him, but certainly not more surprised than Matty is that George answered. “Everything alright?” George asks after a pause and he sounds concerned – rightly so.

“Yeah. Fine.” Matty nods even though the other man can’t see him. He pauses for some seconds, feeling a bit off with the awkwardness that seems to settle over them and not so sure what he wants to tell him now that he has him on the phone.

“Matty? Are you there?”

“Yeah, yeah I’m here.” Despite everything Matty can’t help but feel excitement at hearing George after weeks, even on a phone, but he’s also nervous; he can sense the atmosphere is quite off and perhaps it’s because of the girl next to George, but more realistically because of their friendship being quite off. “Is this a bad time to be calling?” he murmurs, trying to seem considerate even though in reality he doesn’t give a shit.

George hesitates for a moment but Matty waits patiently for him to speak. Even though he already knows the answer he feels disappointed when he hears it. “Kind of, yeah.” George admits, then sighs; Matty can picture him raking a hand through his hair and briefly wishes he was next to him so he could try and ease George’s frown that he’s certainly wearing on his face. “Listen- Did you want something, Matty?”

Matty shrugs. “Just wanted to hear you,” he confesses softly, his voice small, as he starts playing with the hem of his t-shirt, desperately wishing that George will drop anything he’s been doing for the sake of chatting with him after a month they haven’t caught up.

The voice from somewhere far from George’s phone speaks again and Matty can’t make out exactly what she says but he can guess judging by the sigh George lets out. “This isn’t a good time Matty,” he says quickly, then adds “I have to go,” and hangs up before Matty can speak another word.

He can practically feel his heart shattering. He knows he doesn’t have much right to be jealous or sad over the fact that George apparently is more interested in fucking some bird than chatting with his best mate on the phone for a few minutes; this is all his deed after all so he is the last person that should be complaining. But he can’t help it that he’s left feeling lonelier and emptier than before and he wishes he hadn’t called.

He might be feeling lonely and pathetic but what overshadows all that is bitterness. Part of him wants to call George back and scream down the phone how much he hates him but he isn’t going to do that because he doesn’t want to stoop so low, for one, and then saying that he hates George would be a blatant lie. He loves the man to pieces and maybe that’s why he’s feeling so crashed right now. It isn’t just that George couldn’t – or perhaps _didn’t_ _want_ to talk to him, a part of Matty offers, it is the coldness he felt with his words and how easy it was to hang up like he doesn’t care at all, like Matty doesn’t mean a thing.

But once again this is all his fault. He is a fuck-up and he is a failure for letting the one person he values most in his life go. He is also too sensitive and way too emotional for letting this short phone call get to him so much but he can’t help it. At least not right now that the emotions are crashing him under their weight and he feels like he can’t breathe. He brought it upon himself of course; it was stupid to think that George would be available and pumped to talk to him on this particular night when he’s been avoiding him since he left their flat. Matty shouldn’t have gotten his phone and dialed his number if he wasn’t looking to get hurt from the start.

Matty is, for yet another time, on the verge of crying. He rubs his eyes to clear his vision that’s been blurred with tears and lets his arms drop defeatedly at his sides on the cushions. He resentfully stares at the empty bottle of wine on the coffee table like he wills it to be filled again. It’s stupid wanting more of what’s been the reason of turning a shitty night shittier but Matty doesn’t care. He feels like getting drunk – drunk _er_. Or high.

Matty finds the latter a brilliant idea. He hasn’t done that in a while anyway so there’s no better way to celebrate his day off and embrace his failure than smoking weed all night.

He gets up and stumbles to his bedroom where he usually keeps his weed in his bedside drawer. He feels betrayed for the second time tonight however when all he finds is some picks, a couple empty lighters, a travel-sized bottle of lube and condoms. He scans the room quickly in case he’s left it somewhere and forgot to put it back in its place but his weed is nowhere to be seen.

Scratching his head absentmindedly he walks back to the living room and goes straight to his jacket that’s draped over the chair by the window. He hurriedly shoves his hand in the right pocket – which is empty – and then the second and sure enough that’s his weed there. With a relieved smile he pulls out the small bag, glad to at last be able to roll a spliff – he’s been getting rather good at rolling since George left. With it, however, he pulls out a crumbled up piece of paper, and frowns at it in confusion.

Now Matty is rumoured to keep trash in his pockets but that usually consists of gum wrappers, receipts and the occasional condom wrapper so it wouldn’t have been weird to have crumbled bits of paper in his leather jacket pockets but this particular bit of paper strikes him as somewhat familiar.

He carries both the bag and the paper to the sofa, determined to inspect the latter but only after he’s got a spliff ready and lit. His fingers work quickly as he rolls one and he does a decent job, then lights it and inhales deeply, before taking the odd piece of paper in his hands and smoothes it out on his thigh. There’s a number neatly written on it in cursive right underneath ‘Emma’ and for a minute Matty scrambles to place a face to the name but he fails to remember a girl who’s given him her number recently. Not one that’s been even moderately sober and not a junkie that is, and he’s made sure to throw all of those away.

Matty leans forward with his elbows balanced on his knees and the paper still between his fingers. As he lifts his right hand to brush s strand of hair out of his face he drops the spliff on the white carpet and he swears loudly as he’s quick to pick it up but it still leaves a charred spot next to his bare foot.

And then it hits him.

Emma. That girl from that party Ross dragged him to. That girl who had the audacity to nick his lit cigarette out of his hand and throw it on the floor before she snogged him.

Matty doesn’t remember when she managed to slip her number into his pocket but he’s certainly glad she did. She was fit and she seemed nice from the brief chat they had, even though at the time she came across as slightly obnoxious, Matty recalls. The kiss was nice as well; Matty enjoyed it and he would have probably had more if his panic hadn’t kicked in right then.

He’s rather calm right now though – courtesy of the weed – and he could have more. Emma maybe won’t remember him but there’s a chance she will, or that she will play along to fuck him, but the problem is Matty isn’t sure this is what he is after at the moment.

However, the more he stares at the paper in his hand the more reasons he finds to do this; for one, there’s a chance he could get laid, and he can recall that last time had helped, gave him a huge confidence boost, and this time it could also rid him of this horrendous boredom and the loneliness, even if it’s really just a quick fix.

Determinedly he takes his phone in his hand and dials the number. It’s not long before a high pitched voice picks up.

“Hi.”

“Hello.”

“It’s Matty – from that party last weekend,” he says, trying to sound as confident as he can.

“Oh, right!” she giggles. “The grumpy one.”

“Yeah, that should be me.” Matty rolls his eyes. “Listen- would you like to go for a drink or something?”

“Took you long enough,” she says cheekily, “But sure.”

“Great,” Matty smiles in spite of himself, “How about in an hour-”

“That’s fine,” she agrees and tells him where to meet her – at a pub in central London, and they hang up.

Matty gets ready as quickly as possible and rolls another spliff before he goes to meet her.

He doesn’t remember exactly what she looked like, considering he didn’t care at the time, but he spots her easily enough as she walks towards him while he’s waiting outside the pub she’s suggested.

She has her blonde hair tied up in a neat bun and her lips are red like last time. Her dark blue dress is tight with a low cleavage and Matty can’t help but stare at her tits as she approaches. In her high heels she is about Matty’s height as she comes to stand in front of him. Matty politely shifts his gaze to her face. She is not Gemma, certainly she doesn’t even come close to the prettiest Matty has seen; her face is ordinary save for her stunning green eyes, but as generally attractive as she is Matty wouldn’t have looked at her twice in any other situation.

They smile at each other and go inside. The pub looks cozy with shades of brown and warm lighting, full of people, but not overly so, and with nice music playing at a pleasant volume, but Matty ignores all that for the sake of going straight to sit at the bar, even though later on he thinks he should have probably let the girl pick where they’d sit. Matty orders himself a drink and remembering his manners, asks Emma what she wants and then orders it for her.

They mostly make small talk, not really interested in getting to know each other. They smoothly switch to flirting after Matty’s second drink until they’re slipping in not-quite-so subtle messages about how horny they are and how much they want to get into each other’s pants as soon as possible. They don’t do much about it, that is until Matty’s at his forth drink after about an hour and Emma slips her hand up his thigh and suggests they go somewhere more quiet.

Matty pays for their drinks and they leave. He’s smart enough even in his state of drunkenness to take a cab and not drive.

He feels like he should have an at-fucking-last moment when they leave but, blame it on the alcohol perhaps, he isn’t that much excited about this. He’s feeling distressed more so now that there’s plenty amount of alcohol in his system and he can’t stop thinking about George, about him in general and about his voice and how he was with him on the phone earlier and he’s feeling more angry than sad now. There’s also a smaller part of him that worries that he might not be able to get it up that he can’t shake until they’re making out in the back of the cab and the problem is solved.

They stumble up to his flat without getting off of each other until Matty curses and pulls away because he can’t put the key in the lock but they’re at it again as soon as the door’s open.

Matty is focused on reaching the bedroom as soon as possible and getting what he wants but he’s also distracted. He’s focused on the sex but his mind keeps flying back to the phone call, back to George even as he has his face buried in the girl’s breasts and he’s angry, oh he’s so angry. He’s mad at George, he’s mad at himself for letting George get so much under his skin, for not being able to get George out of his mind.

He is being rough in a futile attempt to get his mind back on the task at hand but his mind is clouded over; all he can think about is fucking the blonde on _their_ bed, on _George’s side_ , like he’s looking to get revenge for everything the man has done to him, and he’s getting off at the thought of fucking someone where George should be sleeping right now.

Mentally he’s barely there when he slips into her and then he’s losing it as he trusts into her hard again and again until he seizes up and comes mere minutes later with his eyes tightly shut and an image of dark hooded eyes flashing behind his lids, and his ears are ringing with the force of it. He pulls out and collapses next to her. As the ringing in his ears subsides he’s barely aware of her shouting at him to get up because she hasn’t come but it barely registers in Matty’s brain and he rolls on his side and away from her to avoid the hand that’s shoving at him.

He’s faintly aware of the resonating sound of the front door shutting as he drifts off into unconsciousness.

 

~*~

 

His morning is awful. His head is being split in two with the worst hangover he’s had in a while, his stomach is churning violently and within the first seconds of consciousness he’s hunched over the toilet, emptying the contents of his stomach, which basically consist of whatever he’s drunk the night before. Through his suffering he thinks that he probably deserves it.

He downs two glasses of cold water to wash down the ibuprofen pills he takes in hopes of making this terrible headache go away, because yes, he’s feeling so bad but he would also like to do something productive which he cannot while stuck in his flat with nausea having him rush to the bathroom every few minutes. Finally, his dizziness lets up early in the evening after a meal consisting mainly of crackers and a long nap. He winds up strumming his guitar for a while, then rolling a spliff and huffing while watching an old cops film that’s on the telly.

He has to smoke another when Tony sends him off for his usual task and while it isn’t something enjoyable generally Matty absolutely hates it tonight in particular. He is pleasantly surprised though when his phone buzzes in his pocket and he receives a call from Jesse, which shouldn’t have been a good thing, but his proposition isn’t that much bad this time. Jesse’s got to rush somewhere and Matty has to take his place in a meeting with an important client and, not that he has many options, Matty of course accepts.

They meet outside The Bull and Matty rolls his eyes as Jesse instructs him of exactly what to do and say, and Matty stops him half-way through it with a dismissive hand and heads inside; he’s done this many times in the past and the last thing he needs is to take orders and advice from someone like Jesse.

The meeting goes smoothly in Matty’s opinion and Tony congratulates him on sealing a very profitable deal. His client was more than enamored with him and Matty walks out the club slightly drunk from countless free drinks that kept coming and an eight-ball clutched in his hand.

He decides he’s not really up to going home just yet, and finds himself drunkenly wandering toward Ragdoll. He hesitates outside for a moment, wonder if this is a good idea, recalling his promise to himself, and wavering between going in or turning around and leaving. His missing Gem and the knowledge that she’s probably working a shift tonight pushes him through the door. He breathes in the familiar smell of dust and perfume and cigarette smoke, hating himself a little bit for being here again but unable to ignore his heart thudding inside his chest. Truth is he is lonely, too fucking lonely to function, and he isn’t sure whether it was the sex or Gemma’s company that seemed to fix his heart for a little while but he swears he spent last Tuesday feeling borderline giddy.

Trying to ignore this feeling of wrongness, he shuffles his feet towards the back like last time, taking a seat at a stained table. The club isn’t much more crowded tonight and even after a drink his eagerness to see Gem again is the only reason he hasn’t bolted out yet.

To his dismay, a girl approaches not long after he’s sat with his drink and, he has to admit, she’s pretty, she really is, but Matty isn’t really in the mood to chat, much less to have to shoo her away. The girl leans in with a hand resting on the table and smiles down at him. Matty has to hold back a sigh.

“I’m here for Gemma,” he says loudly enough to be heard over the music.

“Gemma’s busy right now,” the girl informs him without missing a beat, hand resting on her hip, “She sent me in her place,” she says in a thick American accent and throws a leg over his, straddling him in his chair without another word.

Matty laughs in disbelief, deliberately keeping his hands away from her. “I’m really not up for this right now,” he tries for a polite approach and she simply laughs in response. “I really need to see her,” he tries again more firmly.

“What for?” she asks, rolling her chest against him. Matty looks at her, dumbfounded. The blonde laughs again. “Shut up and enjoy yourself, Matty,” she orders and Matty rolls his eyes at hearing her uttering his name with such ease.

Matty scrambles to take out his wallet and tip her, hoping that she’ll leave him alone, cursing under his breath because he was planning on drinking some more but now he probably cannot afford it. He’s pulling out a fifty pound note for her but her hand comes down on his to push them back inside his wallet. “This one’s on the house,” she tells him with a smirk and Matty slowly tucks his wallet back into his pocket.

He loosens up after a while despite his apprehensions, his hands coming to grip her hips lightly as she rolls her body against his, swaying her hips and occasionally grinding down. It doesn’t take much for him to relax completely, just her leaning in and her lips pressing to the side of his neck. Matty runs his hands from her thighs up to her ribs, pushing up the fabric of her hideous animal print blouse. He presses his fingers to her ribs, holding her, while his free hand fists in her hair to pull her in for a kiss.

“Hey, take it easy.” The girl grabs his hand firmly and pulls it away from her, looking around them anxiously. “Or they might kick you out,” she warns before going back to languidly swaying in his lap. Matty nods and slouches back in his chair, opting to watch and not touch for the time being, but hoping that she’ll be done soon. It’d be preferable if he didn’t get a hard on right now, and if he was drunker than he is and if he had the guts to take her home.

“Tell me your name,” Matty asks, tilting his head to the side in question, “Since you already know mine.”

“Chelsea,” she tells him, pecks him lightly on the cheek and gets off him.

Matty frowns. “You’re Gem’s flatmate?”

She nods and walks up to middle aged man two tables away. She straddles him much like he did Matty, and Matty watches as her eyes remain on him for a few seconds before she focuses back on her new target.

Matty stands up and heads to the bar to order himself another drink, lighting up a fag. He stands watching that Chelsea for a while until she gets off the man’s lap and reaches out to snatch the notes the man is holding out for her. She struts over to the other end of the bar to order some shots. In a moment of confidence and self-indulgence Matty orders a drink for her even though he hasn’t got a clue what she might like. A margarita, he decides, is a safe option.

The barman fixes her drink and sets it in front of her, pointing at Matty and Chelsea catches his eye with a smile. She takes a sip of it and tips her glass to him.

A tap on his shoulder draws his attention away from her. He turns his head to come face to face with a girl standing a few inches taller than him on her black high heels. Matty raises an eyebrow, his eyes scanning down her body, from her tight black top partly obscured by her long brown hair to her shimmering red bikini and legs for days. She squints at him, watching him through her bangs falling in front of her eyes.

“Are you Matty?”

Matty has to hold himself not to roll his eyes, because this is the third girl in three days to call his name without knowing him and it’s starting to get a little bit annoying. He nods and lights another cigarette.

“Gemma wanted me to give you this,” she says, cocking one hip to rest her hand and disinterestedly hands him a folded up piece of paper.

“What’s it?”

The girl shrugs one shoulder. Matty raises his eyebrow again and unfolds the paper to find the scribbled digits of a phone number. Chelsea walks up to them, shooting the brunette a knowing look before she wordlessly comes to occupy the empty stool next to him, and the girl walks away.

“I see you met Bunny.”

“Bunny?” snorts Matty, raising his glass and smoothing the paper underneath it, trapping it between the glass and the wooden top of the bar. “Is this her stripper name?”

Chelsea takes a sip of her margarita and nods. “Something like that.”

“What’s yours?”

Chelsea laughs a little. “I don’t have one.”

“Why not?”

“I’ll let you figure this one out on your own,” she tells him, small smile playing on her painted lips, leant in closer to his face, conveying a deeper meaning that Matty deliberately doesn’t want to think about right now.

“Did I guess it right?” Matty asks instead, eying her drink pointedly.

Chelsea shakes her head and takes another sip. “Not even close.”

Matty hums and takes a drag of his cigarette. “What do you usually drink then?”

“Bourbon.”

“Bourbon?”

“Mhm,” she nods, “The expensive one.” She jerks her chin towards his packet of fags on the bar in question and Matty opens it and offers her one. She holds it between her lips, eyes stubbornly on his as he lights it for her.

“I’ve been told you’ve got some stuff on you that I’d very much like to try,” she says, setting her high glass on the bar and blowing smoke from the side of her red painted mouth.

Matty hums and takes a drag of his fag, raising his eyebrows in surprise and a little bit of amusement at her statement. “What would that be?”

She smiles in response and jumps off her seat to step closer to him. “Will you show me?” she asks, bringing a delicate hand up to smooth the lapel of his leather jacket, stroking down his chest and slipping under to find his inner pocket where he keeps his blow.

Matty’s eyes go wide. He grabs her wrist and pulls her hand away. “Not here,” he hisses.

“Let’s go somewhere more private then, yeah?” she suggests through a lopsided smile, her tone sultry, looking up at him through her lashes.

Matty eyes up the piece of paper under his glass and purses his lips in thought. He is ready to give in to Chelsea and although he is aware that him and Gem aren’t a thing anymore, it feels exactly like last time a girl came onto him when they still were, and he cheated on her. Although this cannot be classed as cheating he hates to even think of the possibility of hurting her. Matty had only mentioned it once briefly and vaguely, how things haven’t really changed all that much between them after all these years, but it was plain as light that Gemma is still smitten with him, as is he, but to him it’s more lust and familiarity than anything else.

Chelsea’s hand slipping to the back of his neck brings him out of his thoughts, his eyes returning to hers.

“She doesn’t mind,” she tells him, long fingernails scratching his skin, and it’s all that’s needed for any reserve to melt away.

He nods and Chelsea’s smile widens. She takes a last drag of her cigarette and stubs it out in a nearby ashtray. “I’m off in forty,” she informs, taking her drink and twirling away from him. “I’ll be back,” she calls back over her shoulder and he barely catches it over the noise.

He runs a hand through his hair and sighs, downing the rest of his drink in one go. It shouldn’t bother him, and perhaps it doesn’t actually bother him all that much, but the thought of finding Gem is much stronger than the idea of having Chelsea in his bed. That latter one makes him feel like it defeats the purpose of his visit tonight altogether. Gemma will understand, he thinks. Gemma knows that it was only a fuck and doesn’t expect more of him, doesn’t expect him to take her back and really, he doesn’t think that she wants him back anyway. The fact of the matter, however, is that Gem is back in his life after four years he hasn’t heard from her, and at a time in his life where he wants somebody, _needs_ somebody, to kiss and to fuck but also to talk to and wake up to in the mornings because he is lonely.

He used to love Gem so much for the way he left without more than a vague explanation of why, and really, he still loves her very much, she still gets him going like no other ever has, but this love is different than what it used to be, and come to think of it he really doesn’t want her back in his life, at least not like that. If they keep doing it it’s inevitable that he’s going to hurt her again, and he doesn’t want that. He also is aware that this is probably nothing more but this whole George issue having drained him emotionally and at the same time leaving him craving affection, craving physical touch that he used to have in abundance when George was around, albeit not in a sexual way.

His heart constricts painfully in his chest at the thought of him and he suddenly wants to cry. He’d thought that this feeling would have worn off after all this time but not quite. Maybe it’s to do with that damned phone call a couple nights ago, but more realistically the pain of George walking out of not only their flat but out of his life too has never fizzled out in the slightest. He wipes away the moisture that’s dampened his eyelashes with his thumb and orders a third drink.

He has enough time to down half of his tequila and take a long trip to the restrooms. When he returns to his spot at the bar, the blonde’s taken his seat and is sipping at the remnants of his drink.

“Ready?” Chelsea asks when she spots him. Matty nods and she loops an arm around his waist as he drapes his over her shoulders and guides her outside.

The cab ride is quiet. They sit close to each other, but don’t talk, don’t touch, save from her fingers lightly running up his thigh teasingly a few times, and Matty isn’t sure if he likes it or hates it but is grateful for the blur of colours outside the window serving as something to keep his eyes fixed on.

Matty can’t help but compare tonight with his night with Gem. He enters his flat with Chelsea following close behind, still silent. He walks into the living room, drops his keys on the table and shrugs off his jacket. He turns around to find Chelsea staring at him with raised eyebrows and her hands on her hips. Matty raises his brows in question and she eyes his discarded jacket pointedly.

Matty rolls his eyes and nods. “Come on,” he says, grabbing his jacket from the sofa and draping it over his shoulder as he makes his way into the bedroom. He pulls the little plastic bag out of his pocket and throws his leather jacket over the back of a chair. He chucks the baggie at Chelsea and sits on the bed to pull his boots off.

Chelsea dips her finger in the powder and rubs it over her gums. She eyes him up with a finger in her mouth. Matty catches her eye and she raises the baggie a little in question.

Matty shakes his head. “I don’t do that,” he says casually, sending her eyebrows skyward.

“Really?” Matty nods. “I had you down for the type to do it regularly. With you carrying it around and all.”

Matty goes to explain, but he gets a face full of blonde hair the moment he raises his head, Chelsea’s long locks moving in his face as she straddles his hips. Matty leans back on his hands and tilts his head at her, eyes squinting.

She drapes her arms over his shoulders and leans in, and if Matty were to look down he would have a clear view of her tits where her blouse dips down. He keeps his eyes on hers, even with a little bit of difficulty, and she seems to know judging from the smirk that spreads on her face.

“Are you going to offer me a drink or are you going to fuck me?” she asks, and Matty bites his lip. He’s not particularly interested, not that she’s not attractive because she is, very much so, but Matty’s mind is burdened with too much right now. At the same time he doesn’t have much else to do.

“Well, do you want a drink?” Chelsea shakes her head, eyes boring into his. “That’s settled then.”

Chelsea leans in and kisses him, and Matty sighs into her mouth, accepting that they’re actually doing this and deciding that maybe it won’t be that bad. And it’s not. It’s actually pretty good.

The girl is gorgeous, her tits are as amazing as they looked over her blouse, and she’s warm and wet and not submissive in the slightest. Matty tries to have the upper hand in it for a while until she firmly tells him to stop. Chelsea flips him on his back and gets on top, riding his cock with such expertise that has him moaning her name embarrassingly loud.

“See why I don’t have a nickname now?” she moans in his ear and Matty comes.

He lies on his back for some time with his eyes closed trying to evade sleep. He can feel the mattress dipping as she moves around for a while. He sighs in mild annoyance and sits up.

“Can I stay the night?” Chelsea asks around another one of his cigarettes.

Matty lights his own and reaches out to drop his lighter on his nightstand. He shrugs and nods. “Whatever. I don’t mind.”

They smoke in silence. Matty feels her eyes on him every few minutes but doesn’t bother looking over. He lies back down after he’s stubbed his fag in the ashtray and turned off the light. He hears her shuffle under the covers and when he opens his eyes, he’s met with a pair of green eyes gazing down at him as she’s propped up on an elbow.

“Am I not a good shag?” she jokes. Matty frowns up at her.

“What are you on about?”

“They’re usually not that moody after they’ve got their dicks wet.”

“What, your clients?” Matty raises an eyebrow. “I’m not one of them. All you’re getting is an eight-ball and nothing else.”

Chelsea rolls her eyes in the dark and Matty barely catches it. “I’m fine with that, but if you’re gonna miss it, morning head will suffice.”

Matty groans. “I told you I don’t do coke,” he says, trying to ignore the twitch of mild interest his dick gives at the thought of going down on her. The girl might be getting on his nerves but she’s fit.

“Right,” she huffs and lies back down. She shuffles a little closer and rests her head on his shoulder, draping an arm over his chest. Matty sighs but gives in and wraps an arm around her; if she’s going to shut up he’s going to do anything, and he tries to persuade himself it’s only because of that that he even moves a little closer.

 

He feels exhausted from the moment he wakes up, face squished into his pillow, hair in his face. He rolls on his back and brings his hand up to rub sleep from his eyes. He smells like girl and strong perfume and it makes him nauseous. He huffs a sigh and looks over at Chelsea, lying on her side, eyes open and staring at him.

“How long’ve you been staring at me?”

Chelsea shrugs. “A while.”

“Why?” Matty questions and sits up, hanging his legs from the edge of the bed, before standing up to slot his legs through his discarded jeans.

“Why not?”

Matty sighs dramatically and zips up. He pads barefoot to the kitchen to make coffee. He opens the cupboard where he keeps his sugar and coffee, taking out the half-empty jars and setting them on the counter with another sigh, the third in the space of less than five minutes. He leans with his hands at the end of the counter, hanging his head and taking a deep breath in, rubbing a palm over his tired face.

His chest feels tight and he fleetingly wonders if he’s caught a cold but he knows it’s not that. He lets his mind wonder to Gem, where she might be right now, if she may be thinking about him, and then it takes a sharp turn to George; where he might be, what he’s up to, whether or not he’s thinking about him, and he knows he probably isn’t. The other morning, when he woke up with Gem sleeping soundly on his chest the pain hadn’t been that noticeable, that longing wasn’t so present anymore, but now it’s back.

It’s been since last night. He’s not sure if the girl in his room is somehow summoning it back, but the sex with her, as good as it was, hasn’t managed to sate him. But it’s not her fault, of course it isn’t, and, god, he’s been treating her kind of awfully since he brought her back and she doesn’t deserve it in the slightest. She seems hard to faze but Matty feels like a dick. She’s not to blame for all the wrong in his life, and he brought her back in the first place to have fun, which he hasn’t in favour of sulking.  

He discards making coffee and heads back into his room. He finds her sitting at the edge of the bed, naked and not modest in the slightest, hunched over a mirror doing lines, one of his cigarettes dangling between her fingers.

Matty shakes his head, eying the baggie he’s given her and his wallet on the bed next to her, one of his last notes rolled up and pressed to her nose as she snorts another line. A short-lived smile turns the corners of his mouth upward.

Chelsea wipes the powder that clings to her upper lip with the back of her hand and turns around to sit more comfortably on the bed. She jumps in surprise when she notices Matty standing in the doorway.

“Hey,” she greets softly, completely unfazed by her state of nudity. Matty takes a white blouse out of his closet and slips it on. “I’m hungry, can you fix me something?”

“’M not your fucking boyfriend,” he bites, “Get dressed,” he orders, sounding much more miffed than he really is.

“I thought you were going to go down on me.”

“Not since you’ve already snorted my coke, no.”

Chelsea hums in amusement. “Where are we going then?”

“Out.”

“Out where?” she asked, eyebrows furrowed together, watching him pace up and down the room while buttoning his blouse only halfway.

“To breakfast,” Matty tells her, trying to stifle a smile.

Her eyebrows shoot up in disbelief but she doesn’t say anything, only gets up and slips her underwear and leggings on.

“Can I borrow a shirt or something?” she asks, pushing her feet into her heeled boots.

Matty paces back to his closet wordlessly, searching for a bit, then chucks a black singlet at her. “ _Borrow_ ,” he mocks under his breath.

 

He takes her to a diner he once used to go with George at least once a month when they had first moved to London. The place hasn’t changed at all and he’s flooded with sweet memories from all those years back. It’s surreal how the first time he’s walked through that wooden door he had just closed a chapter in his life, that one with Gemma, and had jumped into a new one with George, now the latter has ended and he’s sitting in a booth with Gemma’s current flatmate.

Chelsea orders American-style pancakes which she drenches in syrup, and a chocolate milkshake. Matty settles for his usual black coffee.

“Mm,” Chelsea hums around a mouthful of pancake and milkshake, “This is so good. Here,” she thrusts her fork in his face, pressing a rather large piece of pancake to his mouth, “Try this.”

Matty swats her hands away and scowls. “Don’t want your fucking pancakes.”

“Try this then,” she tries again, this time aiming to push the straw of her milkshake between his lips, and Matty pulls back again.

“Can you let me drink my coffee in peace?” he says exasperated, sipping from his cup for good measure.

“I will if you at least try the milkshake. You have to have something else apart from black coffee,” she pleads, still holding the glass too close to his face. “It’s really, really good, I promise.”

Matty rolls his eyes, leans forward and sips the sodding milkshake which is in fact pretty damn good. And with that rich, familiar taste of chocolate in his mouth, also come images and smells and tastes and somehow they are all linked to one particular person.

He pushes the glass away, crosses his arms leaning onto the table and nods. “Yeah, it’s pretty good,” he says, his voice sounding thick, his throat feels tight.

Chelsea doesn’t seem to notice and if she does she doesn’t say anything. She smiles across at him and takes a sip herself. “Told you,” she sings and Matty rolls his eyes again. “Come on, try the pancake.”

“I thought you’d leave me alone if I tried your fucking milkshake,” he says firmly but takes the fork from Chelsea’s hand where she’s speared a bite for him and puts it in his mouth, chewing slowly.

His stomach is in knots and that single bite makes him nauseous but he manages a small smile for her. She’s constantly getting on his nerves but he has to admit he’s growing to like her the more time they are spending together.

Chelsea raises her eyebrows, encouraging for an opinion on her breakfast. Matty nods weakly. “Good.”

“Again, told you,” she beams across at him and Matty can’t help but smile a little. “So,” she draws out the vowel as she sets her knife and fork down at her plate, “I hope you weren’t so fucking grumpy when you fucked my girl.”

Matty’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise at her words and his mind instantly provides a flashback of their few hours together. “I think I was pretty sweet actually.”

“Hmm, hard to believe.”

“Yeah, sorry. ‘Bout that,” he mumbles, eyes fixed on his coffee. “’M in a kind bad place lately.”

“Why?” Chelsea tilts her head to the side.

Matty shrugs and drinks his coffee. “No reason in particular. Just everything’s fell on my head too suddenly.”

“But Gemma makes you happy,” Chelsea points out even if it sounds more like a question.

Matty huffs a little laughs that holds no humor at all. “Maybe happy isn’t the word.”

“What’s the word then?” Chelsea wonders. “Were you a thing? Before I met her?”

Matty nods. “Kind of. Well. Yeah. We were together for a while I suppose.”

“How did it end then?”

“I left,” Matty shrugs, “Moved here. And that was it.”

“And how did you meet the other day?” she asks, squinting her green eyes at him.

Matty laughs. “Didn’t she tell you?”

“We didn’t really have the time to catch up on the details,” Chelsea murmurs, looking intently at him, “So?”

“I just happened to come by the club,” Matty shrugs, shuffling a little bit uncomfortably in his seat, “and she noticed me. It sort of happened, brought her home and we had sex like consenting adults often do, you know,” he tells her. He cants his head to the side, smirking at her, “What else do you want to know?”

Chelsea sighs. “Listen, I’m not trying to interrogate you. I just care about Gem a lot,” she explains. “She really loves you, you know. I don’t want you hurting her.”

Matty bows his head and sighs deeply. “I don’t plan on hurting her, Chelsea. I love Gem as much as she loves me.”

“I don’t think you get this.”

“Why did you let me fuck you then?”

“I’m trying to protect her. I wanted to know what kind of person you are.”

“By riding my fucking cock?” Matty hisses. Chelsea rolls her eyes.

“Gemma doesn’t care if you’re fucking others. She doesn’t want you back in a relationship with her. She just wants you back in her life, in general. And if you hurt her I’m going to fucking end you,” she tells him through clenched teeth, finger pointing at him.

“Oh, shut it. We talked. I do get it. And I’m going to do my best not to hurt her. I don’t want her hurt any less than you do,” Matty tells her. He isn’t all that sure that he’ll make it, that he is going to be able to keep his promise, but will try as hard as he can. He’s already lost somebody dear to him, and he’s not planning on doing it again.

Chelsea reaches out and clasps his hand in hers. “I want you to take care of her. As long as she gives you the chance.”

Matty nods. “I will.”

She smiles brightly up at him and leans back. “You’re a nice guy, Matty. I’d kiss you if you were sat closer right now.”

Matty laughs and motions for their waitress to bring them their bill.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *TW*
> 
> Mentions of drugs and drug use  
> Alcohol use  
> Sexual content


	7. Staring at the Sun

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look at that, it's an update. Could've taken longer, no?
> 
> Well, here it is. This one feels a little bit sloppy, sloppier that the previous ones at least but I wanted to post this next part and couldn't bear proofreading and sculpting it any more. Bear with me on this one and I promise I'll have the next part soon-ish. Only a little bit more now until we reach the juicier bits of the story.  
> Enjoy.
> 
> xxx
> 
>  
> 
> Important PS. Since things are going to start getting a little bit messier in the next chapters(even though you know what you've signed up for if you're reading this), I'm going to make sure to mention any additional/specific tw AT THE END of each chapter, so do scroll down to check those before reading. I will also go back and add those to previous chapters as well but that might take a while. Read safe.

For the most part the sky is clear; it’s sunny and there’s a cool breeze gently ruffling Matty’s hair as he sits on the dusty windowsill with a cup of coffee between his hands and a cigarette for breakfast. He’s up early even though he went to bed late last night, or rather early this morning. He’s managed to get shuteye for only a few hours; he couldn’t stop tossing and turning and as soon as a ray of pale sunlight slipped through the crack in the curtains he got out of bed; he wouldn’t manage to get any more sleep anyway. His eyelids feel heavy with lack of sleep but he can’t bring himself to mind when the weather’s being so kind to him for once.

Despite being just a bit on edge and at the same time feeling too tired to function Matty is feeling light as though the weight of all his worries has been lifted off of his shoulders. Today has been a whole month and a week that Matty has been in and out of The Bull every night and so tonight is the night when Matty is going to get paid; not all thirty thousands he needs but some extra payment, just enough to pay rent and buy other necessities, like food and weed and cigarettes and such. Tonight Matty will walk into Tony’s office and for once he will be actually happy and relieved with what Tony will reward him with because he will eventually be able to check things off his list, such as a month’s worth of unpaid bills.

“I know,” Matty said haughtily with a small smile stretching his lips, when Jim Gibson, his landlord, came knocking at his door at ten in the morning the day before to remind him of that. “I’ll have it tomorrow night,” he promised.

He spends his morning doing chores just to have something to occupy himself with and because firstly– why not? He’s in a nice enough mood to do that, and then because the flat is reaching the point where it’s in desperate need of some dusting and sweeping. Then he sits down when the sun’s reached its peak in the sky to work on some poem he wants to finish during lunch and spends the rest of his afternoon and evening curled up on the couch with his notebook and his pen and a cup of tea until ten o’clock rolls ‘round.

For once he’s not reluctant to leave his flat; it’s a nice change. Yes, he will do the tedious task of selling drugs to teens like the creep he is and, yes, he will have his ears ringing after spending the next few hours in and out of loud, stuffy bars but tonight it will be worth it. Tonight he will have in his hands what he’s been working his arse off for for so long – well, part of it but it doesn’t matter because as he walks out of the door and into the crisp night air, the promise of soon – in some days’ time – leaving Tony’s office for the last time, leaving this part of his life behind him and being able to reconcile with George and prove himself right, show George that he has kept his promise, is so intoxicating that nearly has him dizzy with anticipation.

It’s like suddenly someone – God or the universe or whatever – decided to finally cut him some slack, to be nice to him for once. He is finally going to get his life back, his best mate back, and save their flat that they have been wavering on the line of losing.

Matty has never been the one for wishful thinking. He’s all too aware how life can lift you up in seventh heaven and then let you take a death drop to the pits of hell, he had the misfortune of experiencing that quite a few times himself. But he can’t help but let this feeling of proximity to freedom that he can almost taste bubble up happily in his chest, along with something else, something so warm that has him giddy and restless in the seat of his car as he imagines what he will tell George once he is done with all this and can see him again.

He lets a grin unashamedly stretch his lips as he allows himself to imagine George’s reaction and he is aware this is wishful thinking, both thinking that George would be happy to see him again under any circumstances and that everything will go smoothly to reach the point where he has the right to think about the former, but he doesn’t make any attempt to stop it this time. Perhaps because he is in desperate need for some light in his dull life right now and for things to be back to normal, or perhaps because he can’t see how anything can go wrong from now on, he lets his mind wander as much as it pleases as he drives to The Bull and later on as he stuffs money into his pockets.

He finds his way into Tony’s office later that night and for the first time in five years he feels a small but genuine smile appear on his face against his will. Tony flashes him a smile as well and Matty dares to think it isn’t patronizing this time.

“Good night tonight?” Tony asks when he is handed the cash Matty has collected.

“Think so,” Matty smiles widely.

He is feeling strangely calm and he briefly wonders why he isn’t nervous at all but pushes the thought to the back of his mind soon because he wants to enjoy this without any questions; the calm, familiar feeling of being here, of Tony being happy with his performance, of being congratulated on a job well done and it feels very close to how it used to be when Matty was Tony’s favourite.

Tony counts the cash in his hand once, twice, like always, and Matty is prepared for some sort of praise from the mob. He is _certain_ he will be praised, especially tonight; he deserves it after all. He is so damn sure about it that he almost lets his smile stretch wider across his face with the first reaction Tony gives him. It takes only some split seconds for it to register in Matty’s brain that the sigh Tony lets out is anything but contented or satisfied and his stomach drops along with his smile.

“Good job, Matty,” what he says doesn’t match his tone at all as he hands the money to the man behind him to stack it up inside the safe to the side of the room.

Tony sighs again, leaning forward; he clasps his hands together on top of the desk and purses his lips, all the while Matty looking at him intently with his teeth clenched and his stomach churning. “I wish you could do such a good job every night,” he pauses and meets Matty’s eye, holding his gaze, “But something has been bothering you lately,” Tony doesn’t ask, he states matter-of-factly.

Matty blinks and nods, desperately wishing that this isn’t going to end up like he thinks it is.

“Unfortunately, you haven’t been doing very well lately. You are some thousands away from my estimate – not many,” Tony hurries to clarify, “but we’ve not reached our goal yet.” He stares up at Matty, patronizing look back on his features. Matty swallows hard against the lump of anxiety in his throat. “I’m going to need you here for a few more weeks.” Tony eventually takes his eyes off of Matty to open his desk drawer in search of a cigar but stops his fumbling short to look up at Matty again. “Unless, of course, you want to walk away from our deal.”

“No,” Matty shakes his head, “I don’t.”

Tony flashes him a grin with his now lit cigar between his yellow teeth. “Great.”

Matty scratches the back of his head nervously. “W-What about my payment?” he finds himself asking, not bothering to think about how he stutters, and scratching the back of his head nervously.

“I can’t pay you now, Matty,” the mob’s tone is one of utter disbelief, as though what Matty is suggesting is such a ridiculous notion.

“But- I need the money- I have to pay-” Matty stumbles to explain.

“ _Unless_ , you want to get what you have earned so far and we can end this,” Tony interrupts him, casually blowing a thick cloud of smoke in the air between them.

Matty is starting to shake and his chest feels tight as he stares at the mob with wide eyes, trying to have his words make any sense. “No,” Matty croaks out and frowns at how his voice sounds like he’s on he bring of tears but he can’t feel them coming.

Tony nods and digs his hand in the inside pocket of his expensive dress jacket. He throws a baggie at Matty and Matty catches it in his hands by instinct. “Consider this your payment for the time being.”

Matty forces himself to purse his lips in a smile and mumbles his ‘thanks’. He rushes out of the office, feeling humiliated and defeated for yet another time, holding the eight-ball tightly in his fist that Tony threw at him like throwing a bone to a dog, a temporary reward just to keep him sated for a little while.

He manages to hold back the tears that he can finally feel coming until he’s made it inside his car. He throws the baggie at the windscreen with a groan and buries his face in his hands as he begins to sob.

Matty doesn’t understand how his world seems to have turned upside down in only a few minutes, some of the only minutes he spent in there tonight and the minutes during which half of his problems were supposed to be solved.

Matty is having sort of an out-of-body experience. He’s sitting in his car crying his heart out as weird, scattered thoughts rush through his mind and his body shakes but he is oddly detached from it all, from his body, from the pain, but he’s feeling everything at the same time all too intensely and his head spins. It’s probably from lack of oxygen as it faintly registers to him that he can’t breathe, not properly, and he’s panting for air like he’s choking with his forehead pressed against the wheel.

He isn’t sure when his stomach starts churning a bit too violently and he’s spewing at the side of the street with a hand gripping tightly at the handle of the open door, his knuckles turning white, but that seems to snap him back to himself even if just slightly. He’s back to himself enough to notice the weird looks he receives from a couple that passes by his car, the guy pulling the girl closer protectively like Matty might launch himself at them any moment. Matty wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and shakily runs the fingers of the other through his hair before he sits properly in his seat and closes the door.

He takes his cig pack out of his pocket and fishes one out; something better than nicotine would be lovely right now but his fingers shake so much that he wouldn’t be able to roll a spliff, seeing as he even has trouble holding the lighter still for long enough to light his cigarette.

The inside of the car is slowly filling with a translucent layer of smoke as he takes quick drags of it that fog his mind even more. The ends of his curls that fall in his face are covered in his vomit. He takes a strand between his fingers and inspects it with a frown.

What the fuck is he going to do now?

He buries his face in his hands again with a groan.

After a second cigarette Matty is about calm enough to drive. He goes to a 24/7 store where he buys a bottle of vodka, a cheap one that tastes like shit but he’ll have it, hell – he’ll have anything right now if it’s going to numb him a bit. He sits in the car for some minutes, maybe an hour, he can’t be sure; he’s just waiting for the alcohol to relax him enough so he can think clearly – such an irony he knows, but he doesn’t have a clue what he’s supposed to do now that he’s sober anyway. He is sadly aware that a solution to his financial issues, and more so to his personal ones, would be much more apparent if George was here right now. If George was here to squeeze his shoulder and tell him that things would be alright, would work themselves out, it’s possible that Matty would have saved himself a panic attack.

The thought of him makes his heart heavier, sadder, and his mind more irrational with grief. With about a quarter of the vodka gone he starts the engine and drives to his landlord’s house. The lights are all off, probably everyone’s asleep and Matty doesn’t know what he’s doing here. He shouldn’t bother Jim and his wife at this time, he knows; perhaps he’s not even here to do that, perhaps he just wants to come closer to accepting the impending events of the following few days.

He is going to get kicked out of his flat and then he will have to be sleeping in someone’s couch every night if he is allowed, or in his car, even though he knows his mates wouldn’t let him and they would welcome him in their homes, to feed him and provide him with somewhere to sleep but he doesn’t think he can take the pity and he would end up staying in his car anyway. Then he will have to find some kind of proper job so he can at least eat, and as a last resort he could go to a shelter but he dreads the mere idea of it.

Matty won’t blame Jim. Jim has a family to provide for and he has to pay his own bills so he can keep his house just like Matty has been struggling to do. The only difference between Jim and Matty is that Matty failed. He wasn’t so lucky or perhaps he isn’t built for the world, perhaps he isn’t adequate enough to survive on his own and perhaps that’s why he has always had trouble living alone, taking care of himself. Perhaps his mum was right when she had suggested that Matty stayed with her. Maybe it’s time for Matty to accept that offer, swallow his pride and go back up north to stay with her. Matty dreads that idea too because as much as Denise loves him, and his brother would be ecstatic to have him back, he has enough pride to not want to admit to her that he’s an excuse of an adult and that he’s fucked up big time.

He lifts the bottle of vodka to his lips half an hour later, like he’s been doing so far every some minutes while trying to persuade himself not to go up to Jim’s door, and scrunches up his nose at the taste. He’s borderline drunk now; he is able to still function even though not very well but his head spins and he has to take a second to find his balance when he eventually steps out of the car, against his better judgement.

He shouldn’t be doing this; it’s late and he’s going to vex Jim and if he had a chance of him cutting him some slack now he definitely won’t, but he ignores every reason his mind provides why he shouldn’t and instead stands under the dim orange light on the porch and knocks on the door.

When there’s no answer he knocks a second time, louder now, and he finally hears rushed movement at the other side of the door. There’s a click indicating the key turning in the lock and the door flies open as Lou, Jim’s wife, stands there. It takes her some time to realize who it is, what with the dim lighting outside and the sleep still slowing her brain down but when she does her eyes widen at him with a mix of horror and disgust before she’s calling for Jim.

Jim is at the door a moment later as his wife scurries to the kitchen in the background.

“Matthew,” Jim takes in the state of the man in front of him; eyes puffy and red, tear stains on his cheeks, reeking of his own vomit as well as of cigarettes and alcohol. “What are you doing here?”

Matty shakes his head with his eyes closed. “I-” he purses his lips for a moment like he’s going to be sick, then runs a hand through his hair and looks up but avoids Jim’s face. “I don’ have the money.”

“Well, I would be asking what you’re doing at my door at four in the bloody morning even if you had it.” Jim tilts his head to look at the curly haired man as he bows his head down to fiddle with his jumper. “What are you doing here? Look at yourself – you’re a right mess!”

“I jus’ wanted to tell you. I don’t have it.” This time he picks up his head and looks at Jim in the eye, lips pursed again and eyes watery. “I _will_ have it. By the end of this week – I will pay you.”

“You’re drunk. You should leave,” Jim says and goes to close the door. Matty’s arm shoots up to hold it open and clutch at his sleeping gown but the man bats his hands away.

“I’m not. I-I will pay you. This week, I promise,” Matty pleads, attempting to sound more sober than he actually is.

Jim lets out an exasperated sigh and nods. “You have until Sunday and not a day more. Now leave.” With that he slams the door shut and Matty almost loses his balance. He hears Jim angrily turning the key in the lock twice and the light in the hall is turned off.

Matty stumbles back to his car and sits inside, his breaths shaky and his eyes stinging. He’s about to cry – he isn’t entirely sure of the reason this time; he’s just been given an ultimatum which is the best he could have hoped for, he should be happy. Maybe he is just relieved but he can’t afford to cry now either way. He wants to be home right now. He rubs his eyes with his knuckles and lets his hands slide down his face, pulling his skin, to tug at his bottom lip as he thumps his head back against the headrest of the seat.

He is aware of his state of drunkenness right now and he knows he shouldn’t drive but he does it anyway because when has Matty been good at following anyone’s advice, let alone his own.

He misses a red light and almost crushes into a car that’s speeding down the street but the driver manages to hit the break fast enough and resorts in honking angrily as Matty zooms past him, oblivious to what would have happened had the other car stopped a second later.

By some miracle he makes it home some time later, fumbling with his key that won’t go into the slot in the lock. It is some moments later when he finally manages to open the door and stumble inside, not making it far into the flat before he falls against the door and slides down to the floor. He toes his boots off and he lights a cigarette, flicking the ashes on the floor next to him without immediate plans to clean it up in mind. He’s numb as he sits there smoking; maybe he’s finally grew apathetic enough to not feel or maybe it is simply that in all of his frantic acts tonight he hasn’t realized the actual weight of the situation despite it feeling like it’s all settled down on his chest to crush him.

In spite of his heart feeling absent from his chest there is a very present, ever intensifying itch slowly clawing its way from the back to the front of his mind, like he’s forgotten something, something so very important that he can’t ignore even though it feels almost vital to do so, however not easy at all because it’s making his head pound – a different buzz to the familiar one caused by the alcohol.

His hands shake and his lungs feel empty like he can’t fill them up with enough air as much as he may try. It doesn’t take long for Matty to identify the feeling as cravings – cravings for something he hasn’t allowed himself to indulge in in two years **.** They have been more and more frequent as of lately, much more intense and less easy to ignore and shove to the back of his mind to deal with later. Every time it felt like it had to be dealt with right then and there otherwise he might explode, however this never seemed to happen and Matty would rather explode than wait it out until it went away or until he could find something that could distract him enough to forget about it, and if it was bad then when he had the choice to ignore it, right now it’s almost torturous.

He realized some time ago when the cravings started coming back how easy it would be to stop them any time he wanted; he knew the way to do it, had the power to decide when, but he always stopped himself before he could move down that path and that showed his strength. It is probably something to take pride in especially for a former addict, he is in control to decide whether he’ll let everything slip once again or if he’ll suppress it even while he has enough of it behind the sink and behind the toilet to last him enough days to completely shut his brain off. And that’s what he wants essentially, right now at least, but he wants to control it mainly for reasons that don’t matter anymore because things have changed. The prospect of hurting George was the only reason he needed to not let go some months ago, as well as keeping his job and his flat and his life together but recently everything’s been spiraling out of control. George doesn’t care, he doesn’t have a real job and he’s going to lose his flat. He doesn’t have much to hope for at the moment but still, he desperately wants to find something onto which to hold on.

He needs a distraction, like he always does. Since vodka is doing fuck all to distract him he takes his phone out of his jeans pocket. Emma’s contact is in his most recent calls. He remembers the sex was a disaster but still intense, not anything exceptional but good enough to sate him, and he figures she may be up for a quick shag tonight, so he calls her.

“Hello?” her words are slurred and she sounds tired like she’s been sleeping or maybe she’s been out until recently like last time when she met up with him.

“Hi. Um… I was wondering, if you’d like to come over-”

“ _Fuck off_ ,” she barks down the line before he’s finished, “And don’t fucking call me again,” she spits and the line goes dead, leaving Matty opening and closing his mouth in shock like a fish.

Matty wasn’t supposed to feel hurt but the rejection hits him hard, probably because he wasn’t expecting it, having been prepared for a positive answer and someone to spend the night with, or maybe it is because of the fragile state he’s already in.

He goes through his contacts ignoring the names of some exes, because one rejection has been enough for tonight, and pauses on George’s contact, feeling his heart ache with longing but it’s half past three in the morning and George will most probably be asleep and, if Matty is lucky enough for him to answer the call at all then he will most definitely be faced with rejection again, and this time, coming from George especially, he won’t be able to take it. So he lets his thumb hover over Adam’s contact, then Ross’, and then Jonh’s. The last time he called George replays painfully in his mind again and again and Matty can’t help but imagine that Adam and Ross, probably John too, will have the same reaction; brush him off like he doesn’t matter. He knows this is a bit irrational but even so he doesn’t have it in him to worry them at this ungodly hour and have one of them rushing to his aid and then him having to explain everything and his craving for coke isn’t something he particularly wants to discuss with anyone, especially not with them.

And he’s at square one again, with nothing to distract himself from his misery and the itch that spreads through his entire body slowly and edges on the brink of pain. He’s lonely and he is in pain and he is hopeless because apparently things were never going in the right direction from the start but he’s made himself believe that for once he would have something to hope for and look forward to and now he has to deal with the havoc he himself has caused.

Suddenly holding back doesn’t hold much appeal anymore and his mind has already made the decision for him as he pushes himself off the floor and wobbles to the bathroom. He takes the baggies he’s been collecting out from behind the sink and from behind the toilet and throws them all on the tiled floor. He’s been collecting this for three weeks now with no real intention of doing anything with it at the time but right now he’s so glad he didn’t throw it away.

He takes a moment to take it all in, the amount of cocaine he has in his possession without having to waste a penny, while wasting away himself for it, but this must have been worth it. He bends down unsteadily and picks up a baggie. Holding it between his fingers he marvels at how the pearly crystals shimmer under the florescent bathroom light and his fingers shake. _Bloody hell_ , he thinks, _I’m actually doing this, aren’t I_.

He’s not going to do it in the bathroom like he used to, afraid of getting caught, feeling like a criminal, almost ashamed of the solid satisfaction he was indulging himself in. After George left it has been just his mind holding him back but now no one’s stopping him from getting what he wants.

His old credit card is set on the table next to a National Geographic encyclopedia some friend of George’s had given them last Christmas. Matty plops down on the sofa and empties the baggie on the glossy black hardcover. With quick movements that come back to him once he has the card between his fingers, he manipulates the powder into a thin, messy line and quickly picks up the rolled up note – one of the last ones he had in his worn wallet – and find himself hesitating as he hovers above it.

He’s about to cross that line he’s set for himself, that line George set for them both and it’s surprisingly hard to do just that. Perhaps it matters, perhaps _he_ matters, perhaps all which he has built matter despite things having changed, perhaps it isn’t all so bad and perhaps he doesn’t want to do this, not really, but he _needs_ this; his whole body shakes with the need for it and anticipation, and every cell screams for that line to get into his lungs and Matty knows it’s now or never. So he leans down, blocks one nostril and takes a sharp inhale through the paper tube – and there’s no guilt at all.

There’s only the sweet rush of absolute bliss in his veins and it feels like coming home. The noise in his head ceases and there’s so much space to think but it isn’t overwhelming; it feels like everything he’s ever needed. Matty leans back with a sigh and lets his body go completely lax against the cushions. He feels happy – he can’t remember the last time he felt this happy, this comfortable in his own skin – and wonders why the fuck he hadn’t done this earlier or why he ever quit in the first place. He knows the answer but he finds that he doesn’t care anymore anyway.

The shaking’s stopped as he picks up the bottle of vodka from the floor to take a swig and then starts rolling a spliff. He feels complete, not like the void in his chest has been filled but like it was never been there in the first place. There are no problems, there are no debts and there are no worries, he’s free, he’s in control of his life. Not in reality, because in reality he’s drifting further away from having any semblance of control than he has in years, but his reality right now seems detached from everybody else’s so there is no use thinking about it.

His head is swimming pleasantly; it must have been hours since he’s emptied the bottle and finished his second spliff and the effect of his fourth line is slowly wearing off but his head is still clear as ever. He’s feeling tired and ready to go to sleep at last as the sun ascends in the sky.

As he’s burying his face deeper into the sofa cushion and feels sleep taking over him, a very obvious solution occurs to him.

 

**~*~**

 

Matty starts slow, carefully gathering the numbers of the people he sells to regularly and are least likely to come into contact with Jesse or Tony himself, then calculating the price he is going to be selling at and informs his costumers of how he can find them coke at half the price that Tony sells it.

While he has to work twice as hard every night to compensate for the money lost by taking costumers away from the mobster, he sells his collection of grams easily while shooting what he gets from Tony every day.

He’s a nervous wreck by the end of the week, what with rushing all around London and having to be careful enough to not be noticed by the mob and his men, but Matty decides it is worth it when he falls asleep on Sunday night with a huge weight lifted off his shoulders.

 

**~*~**

 

His phone buzzes in his ear and he wakes with a start. It feels like he closed his eyes only minutes ago. He’d rather be asleep and wake up on his own when his body decides he’s at least half-rested but the buzzing vibrates through his skull persistently and he’s definitely not going back to sleep now. He sighs dramatically and reaches under his pillow for his phone.

His eyebrows draw together in a frown as he accepts the call.

“ _Dad_?”

“’Morning, Matty,” his dad’s voice rasps through the speaker, “Did I wake you?”

Matty groans, rubbing sleep from his eyes. “Yes, dad. D’you know what time it is?” he asks, pulling his phone from his ear to check the time because he doesn’t know either. “What do you want?”

“Sorry, Matty,” Tim says, seemingly not fazed at all by the harshness in Matty’s voice. “Just wanted to have you out to lunch today.” Matty’s jaw drops and he almost laughs, but he doesn’t, because his father’s proposition almost angers him.

Instead his frown returns. “What? We gon’ play happy family now?”

Tim remains silent for a few moments and Matty almost feels bad.

“Well. I was hoping we could spend some time together.”

“I-”

“Louis is coming today.”

Matty pauses for a moment to draw his phone away from his ear once again and check the date. _Of course_. Today is the day when Tim has Louis stay with him for a weekend, and the only one this month seeing as Louis had opted to spend last weekend with mum and his friends. Matty sighs. He’s got so much to do today, so much that must be done so he can finally pay his rent by the end of the weekend. As much as he would love to see his little brother it must wait. Perhaps tomorrow will be more convenient, and if not he may make some time to travel up north to see him sometime next month, but he certainly cannot make it today.

“Dad, I can’t I’ve got a lot to do.”

Tim hums. “Louis would like to see you very much. He’s been asking about you. Maybe you can find a couple hours for him.”

Matty closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose in frustration. “I told you-”

“Or maybe not. I know you’re busy, Matty.” Matty sighs again but it goes unnoticed. “I’m taking him to Sticky Fingers. We’ll be there by five if you change your mind,” Tim says and hangs up.

Matty groans and drops back down on his pillow, huffing angrily.

He gets up and hops in the shower, washing quickly and making himself a coffee. He sits around contemplating whether he should shoot up before leaving, until he has to head out and meet his appointments that double by noon and turn out to be many more than he had anticipated. He rubs white powder on his gums when he’s seated in his car, then does a line before he starts up the engine and he’s off. Time goes by fast as he has no time to relax. Next time he remembers to look at his watch it’s half past four and he’s sobered up ages ago. With a sigh of resignation he starts his car and drives to meet his dad and little brother.

Finding a parking spot is nearly damn impossible and by the time he does find one (three blocks away!) Matty is positively fuming.

He checks himself in the mirror making sure he doesn’t look high, or in any way rough, then, when he decides he looks decent, heads up to a place he’s seen many times in passing but never been to. All in all the place looks like nothing special and a bit pretentious, and although it belongs to Bill Wyman, Matty never made it a priority to visit, before because he never had time for such places and lately because the only places he could really afford were McDonald’s and Domino’s.

He pushes the door and walks into a ridiculously decorated restaurant, and spots his dad sitting in a booth by the window. His chubby face lights up when he notices him standing at the door and he raises a hand to wave him over. The round face of his little brother pokes comically around the seat and lights up in an ear splitting grin when he spots him, and Matty returns it with ease, finally moving forward towards their booth.

When Matty comes to stand in front of their table Louis jumps down from his seat and wraps his arms around his shoulders, allowing Matty to hug him for only a few seconds before he claps him on the back and pulls away. Matty is met with the soft smile on Tim’s face and gives in, approaching him and wrapping him too in a hug, if only for Louis’ sake, even though he makes a huge effort not to let his fatherly warmth flood him with comfort. He pulls back, much in the same manner Louis had done with him, and smiles thinly, taking a seat across the table next to his brother.

Matty raises his head and looks around the restaurant in awe, eyes wide with wonder, and feeling like an overenthusiastic teenager despite his previously mild disinterest about the place. Louis clings to his side, discreetly and adult-like, and Matty blindly drapes an arm around his shoulders and tousles his ear-length hair.

“All done?”

Matty’s head snaps back to his dad, eyebrows raised and eyes slightly unfocused and blinking, like one who’s spaced out in the middle of a conversation. “Hm?”

“With what you were busy with?”

“Huh-uh,” Matty responds vaguely and shakes his head, focusing back on the guitars hanging on the far back wall of the restaurant. “You’ve never brought me here before,” Matty says quietly, his voice not giving anything up, but deep inside it takes the form of a half-hearted accusation, wishing his dad would have taken the time to bring him to such places when he was at an age when he’d appreciate them the most.

“We never had the chance,” Tim says, filling their glasses with water. “Fan fact, Bill Wyman built this the year you were born, Matthew.”

Matty laughs a little and takes a sip of his drink. “Really.”

Tim nods. “Do you know who Bill Wyman is, Louis?”

“Yes,” Louis says, face buried in the menu.

“What are you getting?” Matty asks him, nudging him with his elbow, and Louis goes on telling him the best parts about the foods he’d like to have so Matty can help him decide but their dad announces they’re getting anything they want so they can try it all. Louis is of course excited, and Matty rolls his eyes but doesn’t say anything about this being a waste and his father spoiling Louis.

He orders a steak and a glass of Merlot for himself, but Tim interjects, ordering an entire bottle instead, and Matty bites his tongue not to say anything because the price of that bottle is probably what he’s been surviving on lately.

They catch up on what’s going on in their lives; Tim’s been rehearsing his new insignificant part in an upcoming play, like he’s been doing for the last five years or so. Louis has been ‘busy’ with school (only for his dad’s sake; Matty can tell his little brother has been slacking off by the way his brow creases in an immature imitation of Tim and himself when discussing something difficult). And Matty manages to hold back enough details and spew enough lies to persuade them, especially his dad, that all is good. He’s lost his previous (non-existent) job and is looking for a new one (not), but he’s managing. Tim doesn’t seem to buy it. Matty skulls the rest of the wine and taps his fingers on his thigh nervously. Louis nudges him and shows him something on his phone and Matty smiles at him. He seems to be having fun at least, and when he puts his phone away Matty takes him for a walk around the restaurant to look at the posters and signed guitars on the walls, and this is as exciting for Matty as it is for Louis.

Matty catches himself smiling and laughing genuinely. He is having so much fun as unexpected as it is, and he is a little bit tipsy by the time they leave so Matty suggests that they go back to his.

When he opens the door to his flat Matty wishes he had tidied up a bit before he’d gone out in the morning. He rushes around grabbing things in an attempt to make the place look a little cleaner until Tim slaps his arm and stops him. Matty makes them tea and they all sit in his living room chatting comfortably, easily.

The last thing he expected out of this day was to feel this warmth, this familiarity. With his dad, his relationship with whom hasn’t been healthy in years, and his little brother who he sees once every few months, in his living room, his unwelcoming flat isn’t that unwelcoming anymore, quite the contrary; he almost feels at home, at ease in this place the love for which died so suddenly inside him. Everything’s a little bit brighter as the three of them laugh at something on the telly, and even if Matty’s smile falters when Louis asks about George he dodges the question easily, makes up some excuse and keeps on smiling. He’s having fun, and laughing at stupid jokes, and he’s even a little bit disappointed when his dad stands up to leave.

Louis asks if it’s alright to stay over until a little bit later and even though this means more trouble for Matty he finds he cannot deny him that. Louis has brought his PlayStation with him and is happily plugging it in as his dad makes his way to the door.

Tim pats him on the back and steps out.

“I’ll pick him up at nine something.”

“Nah, let him stay till ten or something, we have to catch up,” Matty smiles, glimpsing back at the direction of the living room. His father grins up at him, enough for his eyes to crinkle for a moment before they draw up in a softer expression.

“Have you been alright, Matty?”

Matty frowns and is almost offended at the pitiful look on Tim’s face.

“Yes,” he scoffs, “Fine.”

Tim nods, purses his lips and turns around to leave.

“I’ll be back at ten,” he calls back from the lift. Matty huffs and closes the door.

He fishes his phone out of his jeans and texts the last few people he’s promised drugs to tonight, stupidly enough sends them his address and asks them to come by to pick up.

He settles on the sofa for a casual game of FiFa with Louis.

At the first knock Matty apologises and gets up to answer the door, and Louis beats him with a loud cheer. At the second, Louis completely ignores Matty. At the third, he huffs but doesn’t complain, vengefully scoring for himself and beating Matty once again, and Matty is tense with trying to be very quiet and extra careful so Louis doesn’t hear anything. After the fourth knock Louis finally gives up and rolls his eyes dramatically, dropping his head to the back of the sofa.

“Fuck off, Matty.”

Matty laughs. “Aren’t you too young to swear like that?” he asks over his shoulder as he stands up to answer the door.

Louis shrugs, his fingers still moving fast on his controller, spectacularly beating Matty even though it stopped being impressive after the sixth time in an hour. “I’m old enough, if mum doesn’t hear me.”

Matty laughs again and opens the door. Chelsea is standing there, bold and perfect as always, leaning her arm against the doorframe.

“Hello, Matty.”

“Hi,” Matty greets quietly, allowing himself a smile, eying her up and down as he fishes an eightball out of the pocket of his jeans. “Here.”

“I’m scoring for Bunny as well tonight,” she tells him, chewing on gum, and replaces the baggie with cash in Matty’s hand.

Matty sighs, his shoulder slouching a bit. “Fine, give me a sec-”

“Matty, come on!” Louis whines from the living room, making Chelsea’s eyebrows shoot up and her eyes go wide.

“Oh,” she squeals. “Who’s that?”

“Don’t you dare,” Matty tries to say but she speaks over him.

“Is that your brother?”

“Chelsea _no_ ,” Matty attempts to stop her but Chelsea ignores him and is already pushing past him and into the living room, cooing at Louis like he’s a baby.

She sits at the edge of the sofa next to the boy and offers her hand in greeting.

“Hey, I’m Chelsea. You must be Louis.”

Louis’ face goes beet red and his eyes dart to his brother before shyly turning back to hers, skipping about her face, then down her lean figure and her dark tight-clad legs, then back up in a manner that screams nervous. “Hi.”

“Matty has told me so much about you,” Chelsea announces cheerfully, turning to shoot Matty a huge grin.

“Has he?” Louis questions with suspicion, eying Matty with uncertainty and confusion as to whether he wants to scream for help or stay rooted and play cool around the pretty girl.

“Mhm, of course he has,” Chelsea nods with a huge grin plastered on her face. “You look so alike.”

“Chelsea, I think you should go,” Matty says in a deadpan voice, hands resting patronizingly on his hips as he stands at the doorway.

“She can stay if she wants,” Louis argues confidently, even as his face heats up again with colour that creeps up to his ears. Chelsea giggles.

“Aw, look at you. You’re so cute.” She lightly pinches his cheek, nearly making him choke on his spit.

Matty sighs and rolls his eyes. “Come on, it’s time y-”

“How old are you, Louis?” the blonde speaks over him as if he’s never opened his mouth.

Matty’s eyebrows shoot up and he watches in near laughter despite himself as his little brother straightens up in his seat and puffs out his chest.

“I’m fifteen,” says the twelve-year-old and Matty loses it, letting out a bark of laughter before he can compose himself, and through giggles tries to haul Chelsea to her feet. Chelsea pulls her arm out of Matty’s grip and turns back to Louis.

“Tell you what, Louis. You can hit me up when you’re sixteen,” is all she manages to get out before Matty is dragging her out of the room.

“Wait here,” he orders through clenched teeth and rushes to the bathroom to retrieve Bunny’s share.

He silently drops another baggie to Chelsea’s waiting palm and opens the door to let her out.

“Your brother seems like a nice kid,” she tells him.

Matty raises his hand to stop her. “Don’t even start-”

Chelsea lightly touches his arm and pushes his hand down. “Don’t let him slip into our world, Matty. It’d be a shame,” she tells him seriously, eyes wide and sincere.

Matty sighs and drops his head, nodding. “I won’t,” he promises, and offers the girl a small smile as he slips a hand behind her neck and pulls her in for a hug. Matty pulls away and Chelsea smiles charmingly. She leans in to give him a quick peck on the lips before she struts her way to the lift which Tim is stepping out of.

Tim shoots her a discreet look, then cheekily grins at Matty.

“I thought you’d be spending time with your brother,” whispers in mock disapproval but bursts out laughing when Matty lightly punches his arm. “Very good taste if your old man should say so.”

“Dad,” Matty groans, “Jesus Christ, come in.”

“Hello, Louis,” Tim’s voice booms through the room, “Had fun with your brother?”

Louis shrugs and let’s his controller rest next to his thigh on the sofa. “Would be better if Matty weren’t so popular.”

“He is, isn’t he,” Tim laughs, shooting a look back at Matty. “Ready to go back to my place?”

Louis sighs but nods, and gets up to sullenly gather his things and Matty almost breaks and suggest the boy stays at his for the night but he knows this is probably a bad idea. Louis slings his backpack over one shoulder and comes to stand in front of them in the hallway.

“Was that your girlfriend, Matty?” he asks with a raised eyebrow in some disbelief.

Matty rolls his eyes and laughs. “No, she wasn’t.”

Louis breaks into a smirk and Matty laughs. “I don’t think you stand a chance with her, Lou, even if you _were_ fifteen.” Louis’ smile falls and he rolls his eyes mockingly at his older brother.

“What are you two talking about? What do you want with that girl, Louis?” Tim asks in mock authority.

“Louis’s got a crush,” Matty says, making the poor boy’s ears heat up to a vibrant red.

“Shut up!” Louis whines. “I don’t.”

The two men laugh at the teen’s expense and Tim ushers him to the lift with his PlayStation in his arms as he stays back to have a talk with Matty.

“I’ll see you up north in a few months, Lou!” Matty says, waving him goodbye. Louis nods at him and hits his backpack against the door to the lift as he blindly walks backwards.

“Hey, watch it with that, that was expensive!” he calls back at Louis’ disappearing form, before turning back to Matty who’s watching on amused. “You know Matty, Louis had a great time today, despite what he says.”

“Yeah,” Matty murmurs, smiling fondly.

“It would be nice if he could see you more often, he would be more cooperative, you know.”

Matty scoffs. “You know he’d pro’ly hate me if he had me all the time.”

“Now, don’t be ridiculous. Louis loves you.” Matty shrugs. “You should make the effort.”

Matty deliberately keeps his eyes away from his. “I’m not the best of influences, dad,” he shakes his head. “You know it’s better this way.”

Tim reaches out and squeezes his shoulder. “You may not be the best influence but you are the influence your brother needs. You know it’s hard with me and your mum-”

“I know,” Matty says. “Well, I’ll be visiting him sometime soon, so…”

Tim offers him a smile and lightly bumps his shoulder with fist. He shifts on his feet for a moment, shoving his hands in his jacket’s pockets, and purses his lips, then sighs. “What…” he hesitates and Matty can almost sense what’s coming. “How- and how’s George? Is he doing alright?”

Matty breathes out noisily through his nose, dropping his gaze and bracing his hands on his hips. “I guess he’s doing fine.”

“Denise told me he’s moved out. Is-”

“Everything’s alright, dad,” Matty cuts him off before he can manage to ask another question he doesn’t want to answer. “I’ve got everything under control.”

Tim purses his thin lips again and looks up at him with that pitiful look in his eyes again, but he nods and Matty feels some kind of relief.

“Alright,” Tim sways in his spot for a moment or two more, wavering between pushing him, and eventually giving up. He nods again once and takes a step back. “I could talk to George, if you wanted-”

“Dad.”

Tim raises his hands in the air in surrender. “All I’m saying is I could help, if you needed help.” He breathes out in a sigh. “Have to get back to your brother. Who knows what that kid’s done to my car till now. See you soon, Matty. Have a good night,” Tim murmurs and walks quickly to the lift.

“Dad,” Matty calls out, making him stop in his tracks and look back. “Thank you.”

The older man smiles warmly and leaves.

Matty steps back and closes the door, leaning against it and dragging his hands down his face. He pushes off with a huff and goes to get ready for the club, ready to give one last push and then be done with the hardest part of it. One more day and he’s officially allowed to keep his flat. A few more weeks and he’s officially out of the scene.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *TW*
> 
> Descriptive drug use


End file.
